grapevine of a widow

those wooden
brown
sad
sunken eyes
accent
your small
callous
red
lips

like one
of
a colorless
and oppressed
phantom

to proud
to give in
that your
absent-hearted
past actions
should be
reflected

(i'll remain the dream you abuse. i'll remain the instrument you play to boost that one-colored, puzzling aura of self.)

to you,
i'm the grapevine of a widow
or
the vines growing up the wall
of my broken home