A Twisted Vine

A twisted vine
of thorns so sharp
envelops my unwary heart
an embrace so tight
a grip so firm
the two shall never break apart.

An endless struggle
of strength and will
endures these weary days
A cry for help
is lost in space
and only a whimper remains.

The thorns dig deep
their puncture wounds
now bleed and ache with fear
the heart is choked
no breath of air
is found anywhere near.

The sickly scent
of flowers so sweet
purfunctuate the air
the flowers living happily
the thorns-without a care.

The heart has reached its breaking point; it
no longer can withstand
the endless torture it's endured
by another's hand
and now it dreams of letting go
of breaking free at last!
And another meaningless life becomes
an object of the past.