Vines

The vines hold me,
Deep and angry.
Unknown to all,
But so true to me.

Deep down I hurt.
Deep down I’m angry.
Deep down is only
Known to me.

Perfect visions
That I have,
Blocked by my
Ever growing vines
Of hatred and chaos.

My vines are
My own problem,
With problems
To share with no
One else.

They say they
Can help me,
But so far
None have succeeded.

My vines slowly
Strangle me,
Keeping me from living.
This is what I fear.

Anger so deep
In ones soul
That you cannot
Fight or even help
One cope.

Death seems willing
To take away the pain.
Though all his promises
All go in vain.

Save me from him.
Save me from...
Myself.

Take away
All these Vines.
Let me live.
Let me thrive!