Soiled

You drove the seed of doubt home,
Left it there pulsating -
Long enough for meaning to ripen.
The words you planted photosynthesised towards the breach of insult -
The terrible foliage unfurling -
Toward a hope of redemption which never came.
Nothing there to stop the clawing roots,
To halt the veined skeins spread o'er the jagged edge of experience.
Vampiric insatiability hunts out wounds from which to feed -
And so within and without, now contaminated.
This host of thwarted thorn-words will blossom.