Dark Places

Doubt infests like a weed
in the mind’s garden,
flowers that used to smell sweet
suddenly mutate into Venus fly traps,
bees once pollinating now sting,
song birds depart and vultures arrive. Waiting.
That idyllic little red bench now overgrown,
ridden with thorny scratchy things
I can’t bear to sit and linger there any longer,
I must leave this place.
I don’t understand it and I am frightened by it,
it’s sad when the Clock runs out on beauty.
The way you took her was bitter, cruel and unwise
I will run from you forever, into the deep woods
jumping at every shadow,
worried you have found me again.


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