It’s funny how things go
Sometimes
You write that you don’t know
In rhymes
A decision like do or die
A decision like crash or fly
But when you do, you might crash
And when you fly, you might die

I was intertwined
Woven into the vines
Of doubt
And the worst thing was
I no longer wanted out

Trapped like a fly
In a web of lies
That I myself had stitched
And the worst thing was
I didn’t know which was which

Lie or truth
Die or do
Shy or brash
Fly or crash
Could you tell me which one’s better?
Because I didn’t think I’d ever
Know
No,
No, never

And the funny part is!
The decision’s been made for me
And it’s just now that I see
The vines around me crumble
As the ground I stand on rumbles,
With the sound of understanding
The same ground which my mind was
standing

And the funny part is!
I realize the truth now
The one I’d always known
As the spider webs untangled
And dropped me, beat and mangled
In the orchard of mindful prying
Dropped an apple on the hammock
in which my mind was lying

I start to raise my voice
“stop, I’ve made my choice!”
Wave my arms around
As they finally lie unbound

It can’t be too late…

Even though I took too long
I know I took to long-
ing
For the lyrics of a song
Or the lines of a poem
To give me a sign
But I’ve made up my own mind
I want you to be mine

He has grown vines all
over his body from
old age and wisdom

He took away my poetry
A gift to my tongue
A trait to my sanity now teaters in his glance.
One
Glancing blow from him and my world falls.
Balancing tightropes,
Circus acts draw elephants in my room.
He stole my words, thoughts
Now swell in my throat
Fill my mouth with grotesque vines that grow from my stomach.

He looks at her words like flowers that bloom from her heart.
Reaching to his looks
Sweet pollen on his fingers, I know.
I know.
Though he never returned the gift to me that was mine own,
Never my own anymore.
I look to my vines with hate.
My own song now become tightropes
So that you may decide to walk over me again.

Early is the mourning
Of the glory that shall pass
Cold is the forelorning
As I dream of the past

In the days of old
The knights were still bold
Now its foretold
That the nights will be cold

This chivalrous knight of mine
Rides in with winter wind
Freezing the vine
And my heart in the end

I'll wake in the morning
To find that glory has past
The nights are freezing
And cold hearts
         Cant last

She hardly speaks,
but when she does.
Her words are bullets.

And instead
of being filled with tiny
pellets of metal.
They are filled with seeds.
Cause she is growing on me.
Grow me into a vine.
That stretches across
the whole garden.
So when you try to take me out,
I’ve touched every part of your life.
You can’t get rid of me.
I’ll be a pain in your ***.

Attached by my heart strings.
You’ll have a huge box of my things,
buried in your closet.
With all of your skeletons,
and your dresses, your jeans,
and shoes.
And when you blow the dust off of me.
Remember my guitar strings.

The way I used the stems of flowers
as tally marks,
for all the days I hadn’t blown it yet.
So when I do.
Shoot your bullets in my dirt.
So your seeds can grow.
Don’t worry about my garden,
being over grown by weeds.
Cause I quit sewing those seeds,
years ago.

I do not rely on your happy,
to make me happy.
I know I am weak,
at the knees.
Because everybody trips
over their own feet, sometimes.
How many people can say,
they’ve seen something
more beautiful than a sunset.
April Showers
didn’t bring the flowers, darling.
Your heart did.
Your heart did.

Cheers to vines climbing up the wall getting cozy with chimney

i want to fly through the air
and swing from vines
or touch the sky
but i am simply stuck
on this tiny earth
hoping for something
extraordinary

Mould has grown in the places you used to touch .

Darling what a terrible thing that is.

I was once a rose with so many thorns but have turned into nothing but a fungus , a ****  , nothing but a disaster.

You came to me with your edges so sharp willing to cut off my petals if things got too much .

I let you in and moulded myself around you , my vines intertwined with your limbs trying to make us one.

You never liked the felling of another pressed against you , never quite understood how one could stay in the same place for such a length of time without wanting to expand further and Interrupt another's path.

What you didn't know was I gave you everything , I shed my petals to give you a bed of roses , but it seemed my path wasn't good enough nor my petals bright enough or even my vines intertwined with your limbs enough to make you stay.

So I sit here , as my body withers with nothing but a fungus to keep me warm , I intertwine my body with the mould given and hope that one day you will come back , with your edges not so sharp and sinful and tell me how bright my petals were and how sorry you are for making me nothing more than a notch in your bedpost.