Poisoned Branches.

Torture taints connection,
Yet here again is the soft tissue..
Form. Create. Stretch.

Do my roots grow forth or curl below?

The grey blade still moves inside me. The coldness is no longer separate.
Forgiveness becomes inevitable. Moving on, futile.

A crack in my eye shows my surrender
To that one touch,
Forever.

Form. Create. Stretch. Ignite.

Weave the gentle dragging and mend the wretched openings.
She is porcelain inside and the light of just one drop of her will melt the blackest night.
Words soak up space in my heart like soft tissue.

Form. Create. Stretch. Ignite. Pose.

A sentence is a tapestry of music and lace,
Delicate and moving.
Sweetly sharp, I will pierce the membrane knowing.

Peace and the unnamed are dancing like long lost lovers.
Bones of mine are scattered and fleeting.
Wildfire races up my spine and creates a crown,
Jeweled and jagged.

Form. Create. Stretch. Ignite. Pose. Shatter.

Intertwine my tongue with your senses. Spill your softness to my ear.
Lapping at the irresistible possibility of madness moving into magic.
Poisoned branches of my soul reach for impossible familiarity
Splinter down and break through.

Megan, The Anxious Poet, is the author of a 70 page e-Book, a four-part guide on all matters of Anxiety. Get your copy here.

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For more self-study, The Urban Howl recommends The Desire Map: A Guide to Creating Goals with Soul.