Dark Window xx.xx.011

Death stares out from inside of me.
My eyes are black beams;
heat- and life-seeking missiles.
I am the grim reaper.

And the Dark Window is watching me again.
It peers into me, now-- and I am powerless to resist.
It stalks me in my dreams.

I see only myself and the candle by my side.
Not a bit else reflects.
The Window will not let me leave.

Everywhere else:
I see a face.

Tree Limb xx.xx.011

I cut the tree, limb from limb and I think about the line (is there a line?) between life and death. I strip one of the large limbs of its bark, admiring the eerie glow-- pale white, like bone. The limb is heavy; naked; bare. Its length is coated in slippery sap, and I am reminded of blood. I have just killed, yet the line between death and life could not be more unclear. Beneath my fingertips, living cells are rushing towards some end (sentient, or no?) . . .