Veiling streaks on hill and yard
o shroud the yearn of coldest heart.
Low fog does densely cloud in shame
that you and I could feel the same.

Igniting hope within the grey
shall raise the shooting eye
Onward the light; be bold yet humble!
this might be more than mere a stumble.

New radiant warmth beneath the canopy
gives promise of the sweetest progeny.
Velvet hands to touch and feel,
let this desire be our seal!

Early storm comes as monsoon
as if the branches were to prune.
Ends you and me too soon.

Those words,
grow suddenly like thorn weeds.
Without warning,
they spread wide.
Reaching and choking,
reality to death.
It's a chemical reaction,
like chlorophyll to plants.

Blinded by vines,
that are fed by her light.
Thorns of memories,
dig deep until you bleed happiness.

It's perfectly overgrown,
10 years of blissful growth.
How enchanting,
to wither with you.
Sow our seeds,
and live.

We’ve suffered,
intimate drought,
periods of stunted growth,
dark days with no light.
We began to untwine,
then climb to seek a different light.

That day was our garden calamity,
You no longer fed me your light,
Or Nourished my roots.
You uprooted,
you...left...me.

I have violent dreams
where vines of green
cover everything
spanning endlessly

Their violent bloom
Overcomes the gloom
Of this concrete doom

Your love was honeysuckle sprouts growing with every breath I took. My tears kept them flourishing until they were sprawled up my insides, clogging my throat not being able to decipher the 'I Love You's from the screams. Quickly the vines overgrew and spilled out my mouth as messy as the poems, forgetting what it was to feel empty.

vines, so virile and verdant, grow in the golden light.

like pythons, they grip concrete pillars with all their might.

cracks and wounds appear, and dust pours out from within.

they grip harder still and wrap around the pillars now so thin.

tree trunks to pencils, the pillars now appear to be.

there was a forest here once, of sparkling cement trees.

There are vines on my hands.
                                                          ­       -They're creeping up my spine-
They're twisted and they share wicked smiles
                                                      And­ their smiles aren't meant for me.
I wrap them around my fingers
                                                        ­Their darkness appealing as death,
With poison made of ink.
                                                         ~~~

I weave in flowers,
                                                        ­             They're painted all in black
In the hopes of distracting from how I'm trapped.
                                                        ­                      But I like it that way;
They're small and pathetic.
                                                       ­                     They're a mess like me.
                                                         ~~~

But it's not just the vines.
                                                          ­       There are eyes on my skin too
My hands are covered in everything I can't say.
                                                            ­       They watch my every move.
You just have to get close enough to look -
                                                                ­              - Watch out; they bite
They're hidden in the vines.

      The vines on my hands.                         *The vines on my hands.

She took the joy.
She took him.
She killed me in the process.
My carcass decayed.
I was left for dead
But life began to make
Its way through me again.
Coneflowers sprouted from my ribcage.
Vines began to tangle up my spine.
Lilacs grew through my skull
I was alive again
with new strength and a
Bliss that came from within.