| to_work_in_the_garden | ||
| perfectly_chaotic |
This was a crime to which I did not bare witness. The aftermath has left me like a rose bush, pruned, limbs hacked off, removed from the fullness and the thick of it all, there has been a push towards the fertilizer, the nitrogen and the rain ascend through me from my roots to shake my bones, little to gain from holding onto the dead canes the same way I once held your legs, your moans, each one a little death to my deaf ears, your sighs, each one a relief into your sunken eyes, the memories carved out of all the joys and fears, and I can still picture it all the while. Your eyes as they roll into the back of your head as you bloom in the garden of another. |
110509 |