There's a constant ache that lives in a murky hollow.
Show me how to heal it.
Show me how to fill it.
I pulled the weeds from
the soil and planted flowers
in the hopes that blooms will mask
the permeating odor
of death in the air.
I pruned the branches of overgrown
hedges so that some light
may trickle in.
I slowly picked away at all the maggots that was festering on old wounds that remain fresh despite the years.
No matter how hard I try, the soil
Mushy from too much rain that constantly falls on this damned landscape.
The blooms die too soon and their scent too delicate to mask the permeating putrid stench in the air.
The branches are so thick it turned my pruning shears dull.
Stubborn darkness stayed and snuffed the glimmer of hope escaping from the little light leaks.
The maggots remain, staying fat and healthy, burrowing deep in decay.