I am a tree of old forgotten ages. Perfect and preserved on the outside, but not on the inside. The inside of me, beyond my bark, is decaying, falling apart piece by piece, and hanging on by a thread. I have no way of expressing my pain, so I sit there and do nothing.
Sitting in silent agony, I wait for it to end, but it never seems to stop. No one comes to help me, as I hide my decay under a beautiful wooden facade, Or they notice, but don't seem to bother. Every other tree has moved its roots elsewhere. The only accompanying lifeform I have are the crows that peck at my branches, for hours on end.
I am soon to be cut down, but I do not think my wood will be of very much value. All I can do is sit and await my eventual demise, with my branches thinning and my interior rotting slowly. In silent agony.
