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.

your arms crawled upon my body like vines,
entagling me in a love
that was only fatal.

you made me soft at the edges,
you taught me to forget everything that made me
me.

covering me up
and hiding me.
only taking me out when you needed someone.

no wonder i find it hard to speak.

Moss, and evergreens.
Pale azaleas and vines that grow tall with the warmth of spring.
I hope morning glories sprout their soft wings with the rise of the sun, light filtering through branches of leaves that hang so delicately above.
I hope for milk thistle,
Venus fly traps and nettles.
Sprouts pushing from the earth with a grace that’s invisible to the human eye.
Even with the greatest patience.