The Dead Tree- Siddhi Jairath

This piece is something very personal. I wrote this poem when I was in a state of turmoil.

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she held the gun, her hands trembling.

her thoughts and desires all unsettling.

tired of holding it all in, she cried.

from her eyes,

to her cheeks,

the river of pain didn’t die.

he held her hand, begging her to break out of her trance.

little did he know, he was too late,

for he had been watering a dead plant, the tree had already died.

the trigger had been pulled, she was already dead inside.