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In this garden.
I can hide.
From the lies of life.
And the worms that live in it.
In this garden.
I can tell all my dreams.
And all my failed hopes.
It tells me it's okay.
With a gentle breeze on my skin.
And a light wave of some branches.
In isolation.
I can only find true comfort.
Like flowers in autumn. I wither...
Like flowers that have wilted.
I have slowly been decaying through the years.
Quietly, my shallow emptiness has grown.
Into something that has taken over my body.
And it rips my flesh and calls for my blood to spill
I obey its commands and it befriends my woes.
I've noticed it's been in my veins.
Creeping and corroding everything.
But I know one day this dreadful emptiness.
Will have mercy on me.
And end my miserable excuse of a life.
Like a garden that has been eaten by insects.