The Forest

The crush of brittle bones underfoot. Crack and whisper through tangled chaos. Carve dark shimmering serpents around our footprints. Plump flesh swells on rotting stumps, glazed and bulbous like some obscene patisserie display. Above, a thatch of naked limbs splinter the light. Clouded, murky chasms driving through the fug. Hues, burnished and raw, spill forth a violent tumult of possibilities. Meanwhile, silent intricacies weave indiscernible traps.