There is a bed of thorns
I leave around me.
With every misstep, misdeed
or misword,
every missed gesture
or missed word,
the bed of thorns
like sharp talons grow ever sharper
Thicker
gnarled brambles knotted,
twisted around me
staked into my skin
crucified in perpetual guilt
wishing to disappear..
How the knots would fall away
when there is
Nothing
to hold on to.
MindWraith 
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