dreadful weed
Written 2024-04-01
moss grows on a log.
it spreads and thrives.
if dry, it dies.
but this moss, never dies.
no matter how hot or dry,
it doesn’t die.
persistent this weed,
taking up space with it’s greed.
all this, for my demise.
this moss, this awful moss
it doesn’t die.
resilient and dreadful.
it takes all that it sees.
it consumes, all that is me.
no matter how much I cry or plead;
this moss consumes me.