Bloom

The same static ache is what keeps us awake. I am a scar in the skin, fallen to rest in a grave to wake in a garden. My mind overgrown, to waste in the wild, a tangle of thorns since the moment I was born. Dig your roots in the pain, a seed sown in the soil to drown in the rain. My roots dig deep as they can, but take no shape and find no faith. I will only wait. I will only wait and then decay again. I need to learn to hope less. I need to learn to hope less, or rot with the rest of it. The bones inside this body will decay, and decay will feed the bloom, so let it bloom in you. Take no shape, find no faith.

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