Here, In the Garden of No Mercy

Reciprocity erased, 

Laying contemplatively in a lush valley of circumspection. 

Deciduous ivy,

Ground creeping, 

Leeching, rather than cultivating. 

No longer your sycophant, I seek the act of purging the malignancy visited upon me. 

Grating layers,

Impregnated in years worth of epidermis.

Hastening in its squirm,

Fashioning tunnels of escape, 

An ophidian sinuously crawling out in whimsical darkness for the taxing breath of abandon. 

Left paralyzed, 

Morosely still,

Convulsions of trauma suspend the irrational. 

Mid-air hangs the balance marking our metaphysical polarities.

As a deficient consciousness inoculates itself with unaffected vendibles, 

I am, but one step closer to the fountainhead of our dependency. 

Substantially parasitic, 

I harbour, I nourish, I shelter you,

The commensal symbiont. 

Incautiously calibrating the long term damage. 

Ruminating your words and wishes, 

The act is violent, 

The experience is horrendously calming. 

Heaving over in consternation, 

I catch my breath, 

I vigorously clutch with each moment a renewed sense of self, 

And watch as the twilight of our essence fades into obscurity. 

This is the point of reckoning, 

This is the moment I repudiate tenancy. 

Here in the garden of no mercy, 

I stand reaffirmed, with tottering feet, and heavy heart.