Cold and Dark

I am a tree.
I break and sway in the rotting wind of breaths.
I take in everything and receive what I need.
I have a few friends. The birds talk to me.
They sing their songs.
But there is still no beauty in everything else.
All of the people ignore me and talk of cutting me down.
Sometimes I want to switch them to get them to shut up.
But I can't move, and all i can do is suffer.
I can't cry unless it rains,
I can't suffer unless they cut me down.
But i suffer anyway.
It doesn't matter what others think anymore.
My voice just echoes off these walls.