poison

poison flowers grow from my ribcage, like vines through a fence. I try to tear them out, but they grow back with even more thorns. My hands burn as I tear through skin and flesh to rid my body of the rot. The bile rises up my throat and nothing but petals come out. My skin itches with the bugs the plants bring, crawling and creeping. Soon it crawls through my veins and infects everything. I am stuck as a statue. Nothing but dead and breathing.