Mushroom Guts

Your forgotten actions are heavy shoes on a common walking trail, 

leaving splattered mushroom guts.

The dirt silently screams as its 

surrounded by insecure pebbles. 

Memories are relentless runners training for marathons,

accompanied by cyclists appearing unannounced.

Even the abandoned dogwood tree,

with shriveled leaves and flowers immune to blossoming—

sits there and mocks me.