When the trees are still and the forest is silent, the green turning to brown and the leaves curling, be more vigilant, for quiet is not always the peaceful awakening you crave. Here it is sinister and echoes the explorable torment of your hollow mind. Do not stay between these looming trunks for they are sucking your soul through their hidden roots. Run freely to the flowing river and allow the trickle of crisp crystal waters effervesce through your blood, reawakening the clarity of your heart.

We built our foundations on quicksand; slowly we sank, but with determination to hold onto any solid form around us.
We attempted the ascent out of the weighted deluge that had fallen onto our heads and shattered our protecting beliefs. I loved you fully, a pedibus usque ad caput, a capite ad calcem. That love was a brittle creation that we'd nourished with fervour but I polished and tried to restore with manic enthusiasm and this only made those fractures more delicate and fragile.
I cemented our feet in blocks side by side but now we know that cement is no match for a disturbance deep inside. You held onto great rage and my pleas were but muffled cries in cement torn apart by tears and regret.

Search for an academy where flesh can lay with the rest of flesh; let the community of fat and skin linger on bones, one as other.
There in the mound of banality will all human poison seep from our pores. My blood is your blood; my eyes see the same tangible fleece and the rest of proprieters of eyes sewn with poisoned needles.
We are trained to deceive.
Your nose, though larger than mine, still smells the same excruciating sulphur of normalness. It is only our souls and significant sensibilities that differ. Matter does not matter; we are one and the same in almost every way. But the way you think is entirely offensive to the chemical connections of my logic.
My conditionalities and comprehensions do not sleep sound at night. No. They fiercely crawl around my body as wolves to meat soon to be demolished by salts of saliva.
My conflicts are creeping spiders in the vaults of my cranium. I trap myself in a web with fragments of your glacier smile bouncing particles of piercing light on vulnerable threads.
You laugh with simple pleasures. I grimace with hardened concern. There is no rapture behind your eyes. No apology in your routine.
In essence we have no fractures to mend between us; the fault lines are weathered cracks in the sands of our time together. We need only to accept we are both the same sworn men of earth as well as opposing elements of reaction. My ache will not break you. My acidity may numb your sweetness but your flowing syrup will always remain strong in your blood. I will endeavor to compromise with savoury methodology; the kind that can only bubble to the surface thanks to your timely patience for my pedantic disillusions.
Perfumed by your opulent roses, my thorned garden will no longer show neglect. It will be coloured with new blood; the same blue blood that is both yours and mine, flowing with reckless abandon to oxygenate in clean air and once again remind me that we are as one.