Dark thorn
embedded deep in bone,
Attached to old vines
That curl around my broken ribs.
No longer embraced tightly
Like lovers.
No longer leading to flowers
That once bloomed at my heart.
Falling further from the center
With every steady beat,
And whispered sentiment.
No longer.

The soft petals
have withered and dried.
Once-green vines fall away
In rot
Down in some
much darker place
Where there are no pretty things
To see.