you are cold on the inside.
a husk cursed with weakness.
fragility.
a warm wet riot against nature, united in your flesh wounds and soggy cores-
united in your haste to forget them.
your science fodder,
the oozing from your scraped knees
so monstrously real
YOU ARE READING
weeds.
Poetrysometimes you need to return to the soil to feel the triumph of what once grew.
