leaves and vines are spilling
from every one of my pores, tearing
apart my skin, ripping
my flesh in pieces, splattering
the walls with blood and bits
of who i used to be

i try to touch the greenery,
growing my limbs, my stomach, my face
but my hands are shaking too much,
and they are dissappearing under
the thousands of stalks and stems,
and i can no longer find
the curves of my hips or dry elbows
and my collarbones and ankles are gone,
replaced with tendrils of ivy;
i don’t think i’m a person any more

National Poetry Writing Month Day 13: Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem about something mysterious and spooky! 

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