Stranded

She's always pretty,

And it's nature to her.

Her pouty smile and her glaring eyes make my senses wither.

I buried my heart in hers

And poured love over it every morning,

Not realizing the ceremonial burial was my curse.

Now I'm stranded in the forest that grew from my heart,

Beautifully captivated by these vines that strangle me surreal, and these thorns that hurt.

I am strangled, yet I breathe; these thorns have never made me bleed.

All I know now is the lush of this forest.

She is now a dryad, and her commands I heed.