broodings

ripped up hearts

i got an ivy plant last weekend and it's now sitting in my bathroom growing happily. this is a rather morbid poem inspired by it.

some say your parents named you ivy

because it was pretty, and they liked it,

i say they named you ivy because they

knew that one day, you would have

your claws sunk deep in everyone's

hearts, like roots weaving through

a brick wall, and never letting go.

and you flirt, your hips swaying,

your lashes fluttering, you flirt

your way into our hearts, pretty

smiles and delicate touches, a work

of art made out of roses and ivy,

roses which have thorns to kill,

and ivy which breaks everything apart,

even though they are oh so pretty.

the doctors say that they can't

remove your hand from our chests,

for it would kill us, rip our hearts

out, and then there would be blood,

once blue under the skin, now red

on the floor, on the doctor's hands,

behind our eyelids, under our nails.

- r.s.