it’s been a year since I’ve left my hometown / or a century / the parts of me I left behind belong to someone else / and they’ve rotted by now / when I rot I do not die / I just grow thorns / I hope I’ve rotted around the throats of those who’ve tried to forget me / I hope tearing me out left scars / soon the only things that will miss me / will be the roads at night / and the old bones beneath the pine trees / most days I can’t remember if I ran / or if I was pushed