Desperate one.

The trees reach
and begin to shiver, feeling naked and bare.
Without their leaves.
They are cold, lonely, and shrink smaller than ants.
They just whisper:"Oh, why did I let them go, why did I let them go...?"

Ocean waves rush against the rocks.
They tear and splash and wind and gash.
They are violently angry,
for the rest of them was soaked up by the sand because they had neglected the issue from the start.

And the desert howls at the moon.
They are inconsolably lost and drowned in the heat of their despair.
They long for the grains lost by the
blaze of wind that swept through, because they didn't know how to hold on to something they loved.

But the leaves don't know of the trees shame.
And the river doesn't know of the madness the sea has begotten.
And the wind doesn't know of the desert's desperate desolateness.

All the elements don't know
and don't care.
So why
in the world
should the naked, or the bitter, or the lost care
what the others
have done to them?

Simple.
Because they want it back.
I just want my heart back, it's all I
want.

I've been the desert, I've been the blaze of wind.
I've felt inconsolably lost and drowned in the heat of my despair.

I've been the ocean, I've been the sand.
I would tear and splash and wind and gash, I was violently angry.

I've been the trees, I've been the leaves.
I am naked, bare. I'm cold, lonely, and I shrink smaller than an ant.

Lost. Drowned. Violent. Angry. Naked. Lonely.

Desperate.

Desperate and ashamed.