The tree that hides me.

She lied,
she contrasts the bright and the dim,
because she creates the art of light.
She lied, all lies,
she blends in plastic fabrics with machine arms,

she painted the arched hallways of all golden
casinos and riverside palaces.
She shuffles in after work, into the crowd.
When she gets out, with bloody heads held high up in her left hand — -
You can almost hear her triumphant cry,
and she’s lost control five blocks away.

She smiled, which soon turned into a sneer.
Mist fall upon the city’s commuters,
she shuffles into the crowd once again.
When I saw her from behind a tree in a park where she skates through,
I was revived just to be killed again,
my blood dyed her hairs into shinning crimson.
An animal’s soul rests in his blood, and in her crimson silhouette.