Vines


Thick vines spread across your ivory skin
Thorns have donned their spreading surfaces
They twist and rive against your supple flesh
Crimson silently slips down with purpose

Hands bloodied and painted with half healed scars
My palms have traced all the intricate knots
Delicate fingers attempting to untangle chains
Chains I’m not even sure you wish to be gone

Satisfaction oozes through the air delivered by your eyes
I beg of you please inform me if I’m wasting my time
If you desire to stay shackled by misery and pain
I'll leave the vines alone and simply walk away

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