Tuesday, June 28, 2016


You are so succulent,
Veins bursting below flesh,
Still, were I to embrace you as I'd like,
Your thorns would make a mess,

Planted as you are, no desire to move,
Except to drag things in,
What more should you want when all's brought to you?
Sounds to me like the perfect existence,

One which you deserve, since you did not pick,
The pot in which you grow,
So sit there, eat, breathe and love as you will,
Until I  stub my toe,
And then look out,
Your life's no longer yours,
Thorns be damned, I'll rip your flesh, steal your juice,
Do you take it, or engage in a war?

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