Sitting Here Thinking (2020-2022)

Abyssal Thistle

There's a thorn in your side
I've tried to remove,
alas the blood has dried
and you disapprove.

Beneath the color of clot
I glimpse ebony hues of oil.
You were a victim, I thought,
knowing now your motives are spoiled.

I see it was not a barb,
but a fatally planted seed
honed to negatively warp
what I had wished were honest deeds.

I belligerently fight the vines
that climb from my wounds
pulling me down the cynic's decline
wrapped in a bitter cocoon.