My woods

The woods are dark and lonely. A monster lives there, a rumor says. He doesn't scare me, though. I walk into his warm arms. The trees' bark is rough, hard. Scars run deeper than face value. His pain seeps into me. Neither of us like this feelings. Sometimes the sun will shine light on the tops of the woods. It is then, that my monster is most happy, warm and bright. The woods are dark and lonely. Bright days are rare here. My monster likes to hide, but he can't hide from me.