overgrown

Vines creep their way into my bed,
slither up the headboard like snakes,
like sharks curving over my head,
like scales on the wall, rainbow baked.

My home is a forest green tomb.
Silent minds whisper, “Go back to sleep.”
But I roll inside them like a womb,
dripping voices like veins in the deep.

I’m chill, pale pink, buttery soft;
all my hair has been spun on a loom,
and the whole of my life up ‘til now,
was nothing but a still afternoon.

Napping quietly beneath the trees,
jungle humming with howlers and swans.
You were never yourself, you were me;
in the aftermath of a good yawn.

4 Comments

  1. Whoah, Shrinks!! You’re back! How ya’ been?
    Looks like many of my ol’ school WPeeps are making slow returns to the medium, as I hope to soon myself.
    So good to see your words. Classic Shrinks.

Love you, too

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