the trees surround and scratch you
poke into the whites of your eyes
suspicious and accusing
will you be the next to
use our flesh as kindling?
are you the girl who peeled the
thin skin from the white birch?
part of a prose poem i wrote a few weeks ago for class. the original piece itself didn't work out, but i took a few lines out and edited it around to make this. can't decide what i think about it