I walk out to my garden. My garden is where i go when life gets much too hard. I bleed against the thorns, i am poisoned by the nightshade, but it feels good to be in my garden. I do not cate that i am slowly dying, i am in my garden. Eventually, the rope will begin to glimmer, and my mother will call for me. I am sorry, mother. I am now one with the garden. 🌸