Miss Havisham

When we reached a dead-end,
my feet grew roots
that seeped into the frozen soil
of our relationship.

branches, like tentacles
rose from the ground
climbing over and around my body
with flowers that blossomed
in black
as if shrouding me
as I stood in mourning

the clock eventually
lost the use of its arms
while beetles made home
in the cuckoo
and time stood still

(Edited re-edited..I seem to keep spinning this poem indefinitely )

©sicklypoetic