vines are creeping over
my garden path, fragmented stone
lying there defeated, one by one
up to my sallow doorway. They'll push
till they've crept under my door,
broken through all my windows
and covered the entire house like a coat
that pulses. And then what? Oh, they'll
'round every little thing I own
until it's faceless, green and soft
but chaotic, and I know that's what will
draw me from my study. "Not again!"
scream, but there'll be no struggle.
They squeeze and squeeze and they don't stop.
I'll be crushed…