"Bleed unto death, bitter vines."
In gloom, a shelter offers me abode, unlike the rest;
other tenants only mildly bothersome, and not for long:
my stay, unbeknownst to me, costs a lifetime of sanity as society sits far, in rest.
When night dawns, my short-lived fast comes to end: the dinner is served.
I feast like in charge of theft:
a wolf on murder, steady on its legs: to escape when the pin drops;
leaving the prey half eaten, barely having carved its breast.
I leave the house after the meal, in fear:
"Or else the tenants would stab my back, or render me deaf".
Their chatter reduced the audience to fractions of themselves;
many collapsed, and were manically auctioned off as no more than play heads.
The next morning, I woke up half under a rock: muddled up in the carcass of a downpour,
and within misery: cut right in half.
"I must've fallen, again, down the wrong path."
What followed was silence, and a shrub being pushed aside;
making way for the hunter prancing with hunter's lust,
yet elegant in its way; so as to not aware the prey of the impending threat.
I traversed the woods, steady on my fast;
when my legs started to tremble: the right one at first,
followed suit the left; I knew I was being followed.
I felt shivers, the body grew cold, the brain spasmed;
to grow out of the cage perhaps, while heat plagued my head.
"Come laugh at my face now, you've caught me all by myself;
take what you shall, strip your prey bare.
You've really just come at the right time."
"Thank you for throwing your four wilted flowers my way before I'm no more.
With my last breath I shall speak, and part in final with my bitter vines;
To shame I shall put God:"
"Where has relief been, to be availed?
Were my pleas not even transactional; did I not deserve aid when ailments availed?
If mere critique weighed down, and broke the thread;
may the floor of wherever you reside crumble: the abode falls onto your chest.
And for the brighter of minds: may your god, in all its futile perpetuity,
collapse into itself, and be no more."
The day was lackluster, clouds kept the sun.
In seldom rain that would hit the groves,
I found relief in knowing that this ascent would keep me sheltered, and at bay.
And at last, come hunger! Win your victory:
this is the last time my body fights your forces,
I see the end.
I shall rot away as the bitter vines that found a promising abode in my chest.