A small chance,
A tiny ivy grown window.
A message, drawn by finger in dusty glass.
"You think too much!"
From who's hand can I recoil?
Observe the simple truth,
Since birth these nettles have tangled in my mind.
Stinging my ears as they begin to peek through.
I can clearly see them climb,
Wrap their suffocating stems around my freckled face.
These absent thoughts,
Petals formed from pointless woes.
I hear the buds cry and unwillingly scream.
I was the one who let the damaging light in,
Used my soil painted fingertips to nurture these venomous vines.
Poisoning my present.
I have stolen my own time,
Caught in a curse of a never dulling daydream.
Today I trim the dead.
Cleanse the worn,
Rip away the dull doubt.
Allow this mind to fall to the forest floor.
Letting each leaf in pieces,
Fly away with the notion I can control the fates.
Unburdened and bouncing now in bloom,
Here I vow to only climb the stalks of serenity.
Fiercely acknowledging what's real and what's root.
Not one more minute or breath will be intercepted by you.
I finally can close the curtains.