Forest on the Side of the Road

The forest isn’t fully burned,
we can cut it down and sell the trees.
Reaching into the distance,
painful to call it perfect
because it isn’t.
But there’s beauty in it somewhere
hard to see what’s really there,
I’m too lost in my own mind.
Stop running, you call out to me
but I’m not ahead of you anymore

He told me the fire didn’t burn the center
the trees aren’t fully dead
if they get cut down soon we can sell them
Does that make you feel better?

Whenever I say you in writing that’s previously been first person, I almost feel as though it’s so direct that I’m accusing the reader
Sometimes I just wonder what stories you imagine
As you look at the burned out husks of the trees

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