Anesthetize

I wonder who you are anymore as your voice echoes dismissive screams disguised as suggestions.

What Is This Place?

There's been a hell put on me, and it isn't written on frail paper, in black ink by pink skinned kings.

My heart is on fire. It burns like ember logs in pot belly stoves.

Give me quiet, soft hugs and laughter, feeling the trees; the wind in their leaves.

Must everything have definition in this two dimensional "I have a question need an answer about the hereafter and what might not be?"