There are these ticks

Sucking blood of the innocence

Sucking on nerves

Arteries

Hearts and souls

 

Nest in brains

Drilling deep into thoughts and ideas

Hopes and wishes

 

Singsonging mouths

Eyeing eyes

Cloth eared

Numbed skin

 

Comes without a warning

Leaves without a word

Infected with indifference

Nowhere an open door

No window

The key

Irrecoverable

Carelessly discarded

 

Your blood

Contaminated with germs from rotten feelings

Proliferate stealthily

 

Fucking with aqueous corpses

Mixed molecules

Give birth to a chimera

Not able to live

Not ready to die

 

A hand kills a wounded heart

A foot crushes the delicate seedlings

Made of light and silence

Not always accrues something new

when something dies

 

There are these ticks

They are holes in which each word

Without echoes

Is lost forever

Unheard

 

 

 

©Wortflorist