dyinginback: will I vowed to stop praying to my gods of indifference if I were buried in the roots of a tree. I know I’d feel it, the slow decay and leech of nutrients pulled vertically through the soil. Little bits of me breaking apart, nitrogen molecules and proteins and little shreds of memory, mostly shame, letting the branches reach higher than ever before. I could live in the fruit of that tree. I could drink the rain and eat the sun. I’m sick and tired of being this very human thing, with all its faults. I’m sick. (Photo:  Mark Lawrence) dyinginback: will I vowed to stop praying to my gods of indifference if I were buried in the roots of a tree. I know I’d feel it, the slow decay and leech of nutrients pulled vertically through the soil. Little bits of me breaking apart, nitrogen molecules and proteins and little shreds of memory, mostly shame, letting the branches reach higher than ever before. I could live in the fruit of that tree. I could drink the rain and eat the sun. I’m sick and tired of being this very human thing, with all its faults. I’m sick. (Photo:  Mark Lawrence)

dyinginback:

will

I vowed to stop praying to my gods of indifference if I were buried in the roots of a tree. I know I’d feel it, the slow decay and leech of nutrients pulled vertically through the soil. Little bits of me breaking apart, nitrogen molecules and proteins and little shreds of memory, mostly shame, letting the branches reach higher than ever before. I could live in the fruit of that tree. I could drink the rain and eat the sun. I’m sick and tired of being this very human thing, with all its faults. I’m sick.

(Photo:  Mark Lawrence)

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