Wither and crumple,

Your mewling discomfort plagues me.

Revolt against the natural law,

This disgust has naught to do with you,

But fear and loathing,

Of what I am to become.

Your papered skin and fragile mind,

Those creaking branches and muddied rivers.

Every quaking breath, every night.

I hear you. I feel you. I can not save you.

And it gives me shivers.