Thoughts of a Pessimist

Emotion is all I'm trying to relay. Just like most of my writing, this is a way to filter my brain.

Concrete. 
Like the bones that hold us steady. Ravaging through the trees, their roots thicker than his hand when it meets your face. 
Language.
Words that don’t follow the tongue, and eyes that won’t stare back.
You are glistened with the fear of loneliness, and the need of human touch swells. 
Never.
Never will this anxiety become anything for the positive.
Shaking away the rattling of hands against wrists, wrists against more useless bones. 
I am not bleeding. 
I am not fleeting from this. I am here. 
Simply standing against this tide of confusion and hatred that comes with living. 
Me. I am living. 
Not through others but underneath the weight of these trees.
Their roots, thick with lust and the crazed notion that humans no longer have value. 
We beg to differ. 
But we will fall soon. 
And so will the trees. 
I guess it’s a race against the clock, who can populate this earth faster than the other.  
I am here. Second guessing loving looks and redirecting underestimated words that have no meaning.
But because I am in search for something meaningful, because I am looking for more than what my heaving chest can offer, I will over analyze. 
I will give you the benefit over a sinking chest cavity any day. 
In hope that this feeling of rotting flesh, will find stability in its decay.