I don't know when I started to
hunch over, but now it's all I do.
I am a withered tree
with trembling branches,
stuck between moving forward
and falling back in submission.
I bend at the slightest touch,
unable to calm my spirit.
Fear poisons these roots;
I see danger at every sunrise
as the world awakens and
leans against me for support.
I am waiting for the end,
bowing like I've accepted fate.
