withering trees scream my name.
voices laugh at me with their warm, fresh mouths.
i’m shaking my hands because i have to.
shaking my hands because i need to.
shaking my hands because they tell me to.
this is just a hallucination.
not real, not here, not happening.
the yellow flowers tucked behind my ear
whisper in a soft voice that i need to be careful.
i’m being watchful because i have to.
being vigilant because i need to.
being careful because they tell me too.
i don’t know if this is a hallucination.
real? here? happening?
my guard is never let down.
there is a far away hill
where rabbits and deer eat berries off bushes.
there is a place where all is real.
and all is there.
all is existing and being and breathing.
limitlessly, radiantly, undoubtedly.