I walked in in the wood. As I looked around the bare and desolate land of beautifully bar bark, I trod across the river of orange points. I took energy from the land. I let it create me yet again. My worth was slumped and decreasing with each tick of a clock. Like the move I scurried to the land of trees, crooked and droop. I found my desertion in the desolation of society. My escape is the world, the true world that everyone seems to forget about. How ironic to be everything and yet.