The Old Wood

My body is a forest.

My bones push against the soft earth, rising strong and tall like the trunks of trees. They groan in the wind. Easy cyst causing their many fibers to grind together, creating the type of resonance that reminds me that I'm alive. Reminding me that the bones, strong as they are, cannot stand alone.

The leaves are my muscles. They provide sun and nutrients to my system, they support it. They adorn the trunks of my skeletal trees, balancing them in the wind, allowing them to sway, reminding them to reach ever upwards towards freedom. My muscles, like leaves, flourish and die. Presenting my bones with constant quality checks, forcing them to demonstrate their ability to stand unaided or crumble into dust. My skeleton has not yet failed.

There will come a day when it does. When no amount of faith in my own body's ability to survive will allow it to do so. After all, all trees eventually fall.