I've watched the wound grow on your heart,
depression- an angry black spot you can't rub off.
We used to pick the shiniest fruits at the market,
inventing new names for how they made us feel.
But soon, you stopped drinking sunshine
and instead used shovels to find your food.
Now, your hands are always caked with dirt,
worms crawling inside your mouth as you frown,
turning from the sun that softly raised you.
You bury the produce Mother Earth gifts us,
locking away light, entombing any ripe emotion.
And what else can I do but watch you wither...
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Many thanks to Rania for this challenge! She thought of the title then gave a few other rules (12 lines, free verse, use certain words).
