Inside my heart there lies a seed,
Long split and broke apart,
At first a sprout, but now a vine,
Still wrapped around my heart.
And tightly wrapped, though squeezing hard,
This new plant still does grow;
Now strengthened vine, wrapped tight, wrapped fine,
Now bursting leaves and stalk
My ribcage burst with foliage,
My stomach wrapped with twine,
And ever downwards, futile searching,
These roots still prick my spine.
I'm overgrown, both flesh and bone, with this small seed of sorrow.
Just water, soil, shine
To make this seed a vine,
Yet no strong feat has yet returned
A plant from whence it's spurned
How to collapse so huge a sorrow?
How to return to seed?
There is no strength that I could borrow,
And to whom'd I repay the deed?
I'm overgrown, both flesh and bone, and nothing changes me.