step one, you say we need to talk. he walks.
Cry of an ivy creeper
She has changed in the way a lover rejects her other like a
shell which has grown too small for her. Every day
she stands by herself under the glistening
sunlight, proud and independent. She'd rather be alone than
share her sunlight with you or me.
The process of unclinging is scary. It's like
climbing a cliff with a harness, and
suddenly realizing that the fastener had snapped
when you were hanging freely taking a rest.
I am the mothball ripped off the threads of my carpet,
homeless and drifting, displaced and misplaced, my sticky fibres
sore and my weightless self bounced about by the restless winds.
The organ removed from my deceased home to be roughly crammed into
another's (like substitution works that way) and then harshly
rejected and attacked by foreign T-cells.
The salt left drying, thirsty and dying, as water
evaporates from extracted seawater.
She make me feel like a parasite which can only live off her.
All alone I creep, looking for another to wrap around--
all I wanted was company, I never wanted to choke anybody.