lack of love

Outside the open window 

the sorry sight of a tree encircled with rambling weeds 

a dark spot in the gloomy, 

obscure landscape 

No one to clear of its weeds 

No one to prune it

No one to water it 

No one to love it 

Abandoned by the ones 

who once planted it 

His boney limbs stretched out as if to grab human flesh

jolted by the blustery, November winds

Crawling millipedes, oozy insects with glowing eyes and vast antennas 

plague the leafs

tearing them to shreds 

Suctioning and digesting every single remaining drop of life 

Thick black liquid pours down the fragile truck, 

like an infested, nasty wound straining the corp 

It reaches the drained out, thirsty roots

who slowly grope their way on to the crusty surface,

not being able to hold the tree upright any longer 

In the bleakness of this starless night, 

the tree reminds of a forgotten monstrosity, 

enraged with his neglection, 

on the verge of claiming feeble souls 

Meanwhile the surrounding nature echoed 

with the sharp pain of a rotting relationship