Utter the words out loud

and so come the vines

born from the pollen carried by the butterflies in the stomach

trancing up through the throat

branching out across the face

thorns erupting from those smooth green stalks

digging into the eyes

tears of blood rain down

blinded by the want, blind to the need

The vines tangle around the body now

never strong enough to make a move

you will see no flowers here

leaves rustle in the wind

hedging their bets on a fall that never comes

by then the blood will be dried

the feeling a grave in the forest

And I tell myself it is all just chemistry

emotions, the growth of the vines, and the death of everything

no one has ever been so wrong.