It Waits In The Woods

I race through the woods, hurdling logs, and crashing through piles of amber leaves.

I hear rodents scamper away, their footsteps far more quiet than mine

(Can you hear me?)

I hear footsteps behind me

I keep running until I've made it to my campsite

(If you can)

My already set up easels stand like soldiers, guarding my tent.

I smile at the familiar sight of paint

(I love you)

The footsteps stop

The woods are still

The woods are silent

I hear the footsteps slowly walk away

I don't look behind me until they're gone

I take a peek behind me.

(I hope you're somewhere beautiful)

I sigh with relief, and sink to my knees

The mushy ground reminds me of-

(Somewhere as beautiful as one of your paintings)

A sponge.

My knees become damp

I sit on the squishy ground until my breathing has returned to normal

(We miss you)

There are voices in my head

The woods do that

They instill fear where there shouldn't be

It makes voices appear in your head

(So, so much)

I feel alone, with only the voices to talk to.

I came to these woods to find inspiration.

To take a break.

To paint.

But I'm lost.

Both metaphorically and literally.

The thing traps me here.

Forces me to lose my mind.

Maybe I'll never find a way out.