The Hanging Tree

Timeline of death, although discreet,
Remnants of rope on one lone branch,
Herd them up and count the toll,
I need to know before I fall.
Dingy woods, made up of stumps,
Darkness, dampness, suffocation,
Jagged fingers scratch my pain,
They know that now I'm here to stay.
Reach up through the wispy dusk,
Her nails unclipped and growing still,
Tower over me, know my weakness,
This little place knows nothing less.
I come here often to descend,
On downwards steep slope spiral,
I drown in thoughtless thinkings mess,
I am but nothing nothingness.
I have no words to numb the noise,
Now wary of her shrieking call,
Blackened heart made out of bark,
Hanging Tree has made her mark.
My footsteps fall on broken leaves,
Oh Hanging Tree, she gives me hope,
I'm on my way, make room for me,
And my little necklace made of rope.
The hanging tree who knows me best,
Smirks a little gnarly gap,
She knows me like no other might,
This fragment of a rusty life.
Finally she thinks I'll hang
From my choking, wiry limb,
She struggles to contain herself,
As she almost pulls me back again.
But something stronger sets me free,
My misery is blurry,
One gaping taste of sticky fear,
Stranger things have happened here.
I need to stop the teary sap,
From fogging up my brain,
And though I'm spread amongst the moss,
I will be whole again.
Slumped in wretched desperation,
Where goes my story now?
I had one job - to meet damnation,
But I failed at that as well.