𖣂 there is a tree in my world 𖣂 a branching, vascular tower 𖣂 grown of my sister's flesh 𖣂 from its center comes her voice 𖣂 spiting me. cursing me. 𖣂 she cannot die. i cannot let her 𖣂 i could make her love me 𖣂 if i coveted her love
this one. is not a poem.