In my sick garden of cruel madness,

We dig bare earth and damp mud

Where incest makes mutants underneath.

Silence hides us; strange, dirty and proper

Making blood echo deep and boom savage.

Dark roses climbed, defeated death and doubt.

Imaginary blue rain was to wash us clean

In the garden bed, that Shade brought

A live vegetable corpse, white as snow.

In my kingdom we are never just green.

2 responses »

  1. Wonderfully dark imagery. I enjoyed how the overall idea was hinted at but it still leaves room for differing interpretations, it wasn’t incredibly opaque and just handing it over easily to the reader. It makes the mind wonder.

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