Did I ever love you?
Or did the ivy creep in and tangle me up again?
The ivy that drinks liquid courage instead of water
That blooms little white capsules of short lived joy
That wraps itself and clings to anything and anyone that is an escape
An escape from the mundane horticulture that lives in the everyday greenhouse
The ivy grows on deceit and thorns and weeds and pesticides
Grows against the rusted walls of abandoned homes
Grows not towards the sun, but towards the challenge
Did I use you to wrap my vines around?
I think the part of my brain where the ivy grows chose you
And got wrapped up in rot
But it retreats, and finds other things to climb