Crouching low I hid neath the brambles. Scratched and torn skin red with rage.
I watched as they ripped it asunder. No respect. No fear.
Each screaming heart gasping air. Roots barren and drying.
Shattered crowns, withered leaves, twisted souls.
The breeze blew where it shouldn’t.
Smell of earth where is wasn’t.
They looked happy as tears stained my dirty face.
Proud, they stood in the clearing. As if they had done something great.
Chicks With Ticks 