• sicklypoetic 25w

    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 )