The Tree and Me

Much like the venerable, rotting Oak,

I had met my demise internally.

We suffered and decayed on the inside,

amalgamating pain like compost.

All while exhibiting sturdy roots and a stoic trunk to the world.

And when we had already passed on,

our organs hollowed like a desolate cathedral,

the passers-by would still smile politely to the now molted shell.

As if I were still there.

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