(via jaggerjack)

She needs him to explain lines to her,
Lines she knows she read, lines she knows are hers.
Under the tree, in the field, surrounded by nothing but grass,
With twisting razor tips,
With little shade,
He will tell her what they meant, if only she’d ask.
If only she really wanted to know the answer and what it would mean.

The tree will stand here, strangled, long after I have left;
I am not made of wood and the sun won’t feed me,
So if your fingers strangle me, I’ll pass early, I’ll pass violently.
But please ask me what you want to hear before I go.

As always, Jackson’s writing takes the cake.