the vines in my veins

Sometimes I swear I

wrote myself into

oblivion, pen

twisting onto paper and

becoming resounding

screams of

insufficiency.

Sometimes I swear I

wrote myself out

of oblivion, words

becoming threads of

self love and

healing, growing

vines in my veins and

telling me to

climb them.

Perhaps there were

treasures buried in the

dark,

perhaps I wrote myself

there

just to write myself

back.

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