I once ate the grapes of a pretty good person
They were sweet, juicy and had little seeds
They lodged themselves in my heart
Where they became the memories I held dear
But somewhere along the way, The grapes
turned sour and meager and each bite had a
tinge of regret, I'd spit out the seeds
Only once in a fit of rage, I'd swallowed one
And it grew, and it grew, and the vines
would coil around my heart, my lungs,
piercing both and growing, feasting,
To replace my life with that of your memory
My liver was drunk on the fermentation of
my sealed lungs, my crushed heart,
my martyred self, who spread bare across your roots
It tastes a bit like your moldy basement.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 12:23 AM UTC
I once ate the grapes of a pretty good person
They were sweet, juicy and had little seeds
They lodged themselves in my heart
Where they became the memories I held dear
But somewhere along the way, The grapes
turned sour and meager and each bite had a
tinge of regret, I'd spit out the seeds
Only once in a fit of rage, I'd swallowed one
And it grew, and it grew, and the vines
would coil around my heart, my lungs,
piercing both and growing, feasting,
To replace my life with that of your memory
My liver was drunk on the fermentation of
my sealed lungs, my crushed heart,
my martyred self, who spread bare across your roots
It tastes a bit like your moldy basement.