To say there is more than what truly is, may be the greatest downfall we could ever hope to be. The lack of discretion is only proof of leisure, not complete disclosure. Such a great hallucination is found only in your deepened wounds, and in those creases which bind your palm as one. This rooted hearth you bathe from within your grasp, thrives within such kind topsoil. If you let my blood, it would seep into the ground, the forest would bear my children, and my heart would beat vibrantly within the people. Soothing touch, mother’s child. Last of those in understanding, lost within the weight of despair.