will my roots wither if I pull away?
this, incessant self-querying,
the heart pain tug that tugs on a
should I pull it up by the roots,
that, the deepest cut of all.
when you obsess, perplexed about responsibility,
about escape, from what you’ve planted,
which came up with thorns unexpected.
the sweat, from the care and feeding,
rankles and saddens, for this
investments sour taste makes you question
your common-sensical nonsensical,
that intersection where the heart and the brain clash fearsome.
this is oft, too oft, how life sinks it teeth
into you, and extracting those thorns,
leaving teeth marks
hurting long long time after
those withered roots get tugged, pulled,
like a pain in the heart that was exorcised,
but couldn’t never be fully excised