I can't begin to wrap the words together
nor can I undo the ones I have created.
The thing about creativity is
once it is done,
it cannot be undone.
The intricate vines that you weave
into the most unspoken beauty.
They thicken until each and every reader
is shut out
from their truth; their connotation.
while pleasent and blooming
with lilacs and sweet pea blossoms,
is never what it seems.
Eventually, what you have created
will begin to bloom itself
cascading into the neon sharpness,
carving into acute angles.
Withering until the flower-scent
seeps into your mind.
It's pollen wiggles into the crevices,
dangling along your neurons
puncturing your occipital lobe.
These vines encase you
wrapping into a tight shell,
protecting your innermost softness
and locking your secrets up tight.
Together, you sprout thorns.