Nomad Writer

Crippled–
Within a rotting cage
Of whittled bone
Tainted marrow
The air has soured
Fetid fumes of
Regret
Choking
Heaving lungs
Perhaps I
Stayed too long
In this garden
Bloomed within my skull
For
The flowers have wilted
In the wake of thorns
Stifling
The reviving ambrosia
Of late spring blossoms