Short Spring.

In the Spring, is when things

Bloom

But lately I’ve been feeling that I need to be

Pruned

Twisty bits wrap around, taking up all my energy

Draining me

Mercilessly

Feeding until I cannot breathe

Decaying flowers keep hold desperately

Requiring more and more to breed

Hatred, anger, growing things unseen

Sadness, hopelessness mimic dead limbs, branching carelessly

There is no peace

No Light

No green

Spring is when things should bloom

Not start to die and lose their leaves.

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