A Garden Without Mercy
Inside me, the vines invade.
Barbed tendrils forcing their way
through soft tissue,
splitting the seams of thought
with slow, creeping hunger.
They coil around my bones
claiming territory,
tightening until the marrow
feels the ruin of pressure.
Every breath is a negotiation
with something that
refuses to loosen.
Weeds erupt in untended hollows,
cracking the dry, obedient
earth of my mind.
Rising fast,
feral,
unapologetic.
Feeding on the detritus of thoughts
littering the ground.
A choking mass of green
drags the light down with it.
I feel the roots shifting,
rewriting the map of my insides
with their ruthless persistence.
There is no mercy in this garden,
only survival,
and the quiet comfort
that even in ruined soil
something refuses to die.
#Vine #WildWalkPrompt
@sonnetsmith.bsky.social
#Inside #MadMarch
@daveashleypoet.bsky.social
#Weed #vssdaily
It's all getting a bit much. I need a holiday, or some weedkiller!