The Foundation of You

You believe in the death of emotion,
your jarred up compassion kept hidden
and left to erosion; a potion
to cure one of the gift of remorse
by sheer, tongue-tied will of force.

Force of will in the hollow
you have carved out
with your restless hands,
given away to swallow whole;
another expectation
without much soul,
another instability
convinced under control.

You traveled unsteady
to forbidden lands and bit into
the juiciest red apple
that you could stand;
a surprise chain reaction
in domino fashion
to fall and lodge inside,
undoubtedly left behind
to close your swollen throat:

your heart growing cold
and colder to the touch
when told to grow older now
and enough is enough.

Instead you treat them,
a doctor of the brain;
a degree in only ignorance
in use to deem her
gift of magic quite insane.
You refuse to notice
the flowers in her veins,

plucked the peonies quick
from her deep ocean eye sockets
and poured her honey vision
clear down the drain.
What a stain

you abandon on her soul. What a
game you play when every turn
never turns to her roll.
You never grow

like the roots I water in myself, patient
as I lie in wait, as I wait and cry out
for the weeds at my trunk’s feet
to settle and die out.

The foundation of you,
the dying daisy bed beneath me;
I cursed them with drought,

eager to learn
how to bloom without.