My brain is a forest.

Of trees, bush and leaves.

They crowd my mind, so I cannot hear, or think.

I do not know when they started growing, only that they won’t stop.

And there are too many rules and obligations in this place.

Things I have to do.

Things they want me to do.

There is little room for me.

So I am running.

Away from the noise,

and the people,

and the crown.

The crown that laid heavy on my head, whispering secrets, every day, until I screamed for silence.

Yet they never stopped.

The meadow is so beautiful at dawn. 

Dew soaks my dress as I run away from the madness,

and toward my future,

where the king of death

offers a hand,

and rest.