trees and very unfortunate souls,
and I wish you would stop pretending that you understand the unfortunate,
you don't,
and neither do I,
for that matter
And for that matter,
what matter,
the matter at hand,
I need you to stop trying to be empathetic,
you either are,
or you aren't,
and that is that
Trying makes not one bit of difference here
And my trees,
my trees will not shelter you from a storm,
they know not empathy,
or sadness,
or life,
and their arteries take hold of below,
and then lead to nowhere,
But my trees,
they know memory
And for that,
they will outlive the best of us,
and the best of our intentions
"my trees" should be the title of the piece. I like the idea of your memory being tied to your living, breathing arteries. I was puzzled by the fact that they will "outlive the best of us" however. The concept of this piece can go a lot of places and the universality of trees, roots and their lifespan can be applied to many a metaphor and plenty a conceit.
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