these snatching vines reach out
coiling around my body,
thorns ripping into my flesh
tearing away at my resolve
pestilence, disgust, loathing
the succulent plant speaks in my ear
if only the others could hear
they wouldn't mind, though
they never do, they await to be recognized
but invisible i am to them, seen as nothing
but a mere ghost, casper, white and innocent
unthreatening, a little baby boy to coddle
except deep within the recesses of my brain
lies endless pits, belching out clouds of agony
shrouding me in its encompassing, amorphous form
the snatching vines reach out, and i
feel no sadness in allowing them to
consume my body and soul whole
YOU ARE READING
this fantastical world is too surreal (poetry #5)
Poetry"a rustle crackles underneath jackboots crossbow tight in hand she breathes one final breath before he pulls the trigger" you know the drill
