Darkness steals my sight like blindness,

fumbling, stumbling,

like the fledgling falls from the tree.

Abandoned and naive,

the blade cuts deep

as I struggle to leave.

Seeping, weeping,

blood pumps hot as fire,

and lips grow cold as ice.

I'm running out of time.

Brightness explodes like the flash of the camera,

documenting my lifeless body.

Vibrant exposure,

just minutes behind.

Beneath the ground,

if ever found,

I'll be nothing more than

a dish on which the roaches dine.

Under clouds of hazy grays, a solitary structure lies nestled in the thick forest. Angled towards the sky, It’s uneven roof and walls grow from the rock and dirt. Late autumn dew shines in the weak twilight. Fog sends ghosts gliding through the trunks of trees.

Perched atop a thinning hemlock sits a crow, black as tar, scanning the horizon. It’s glassy eyes dart from the tattered shack to the lake below. Spreading its wings, the guardian of the sky takes flight.

In the lake, my feet sink in as the muck gathers between my toes, my reflection glaring back at me. The water sends chills up my legs. The bank is lined with old leaves reminiscent of seasons long forgotten, each one a faded memory wading in the icy shallows.