According to Bune, my soul is a dark forest. This is not a metaphor. This is a real place. A real, living environment. It breathes and changes with the observer.
It is alive and it is terrifying. Branches twisting like arms ending with claws. Wind constantly whistling past your ears. Tall pine trees. Taller than life. You cannot see the sky. Most light is blocked. Sometimes you can see the moon shine through the rare cracks in the canopy. Night is eternal.
Everywhere you turn, there is a noose. Hanging. Beckoning you to stay forever. Please stay. Don’t leave. Slip me around your pretty white neck.
The only respite can be found in damp caves. If you listen, you can hear whispers coming from deep inside. Who lives in there? Rather, *what* lives in there? (Giant spiders, probably.)
My soul is nearly impossible to navigate. One must know the forest before daring to enter. If the destination is unknown, one risks getting trapped. Damned to walk the empty trails for eternity. Cyclical.
The deeper one walks, the more one risks getting lost. There are memories here that will pull you in. They will sing to you like sirens. Don’t follow them. They are not your guides. You must work around them. Climb a tree and hide. Attack when they have their backs turned.
But beware. The trees hear you. They feel you. They bend toward you as if they are observing your movements. Keep quiet. Move with stealth. Do not let them embrace you. They will not caress you like a gentle lover. They will snap you in half. Intruder.
My soul is life. It is life coming closer to death. It is not a beginning or an ending. Life and death are not finite. They cannot be placed on a timeline. I cannot be placed.
The creatures that live inside me call me Mother. They are neither alive nor dead. Each entity is an organism within an ecosystem, while simultaneously a part of that ecosystem. They are me. They are my soul. I am my soul. I breathe. I change. I continue. I do not begin and I do not end. I am.