these snatching vines reach out
coiling around my body,
thorns ripping into my flesh
tearing away at my resolve

pestilence, disgust, loathing
the succulent plant speaks in my ear

if only the others could hear

they wouldn't mind, though
they never do, they await to be recognized
but invisible i am to them, seen as nothing
but a mere ghost, casper, white and innocent
unthreatening, a little baby boy to coddle

except deep within the recesses of my brain
lies endless pits, belching out clouds of agony
shrouding me in its encompassing, amorphous form
the snatching vines reach out, and i
feel no sadness in allowing them to
consume my body and soul whole