There are these ticks
Sucking blood of the innocence
Sucking on nerves
Arteries
Hearts and souls
Nest in brains
Drilling deep into thoughts and ideas
Hopes and wishes
Singsonging mouths
Eyeing eyes
Cloth eared
Numbed skin
Comes without a warning
Leaves without a word
Infected with indifference
Nowhere an open door
No window
The key
Irrecoverable
Carelessly discarded
Your blood
Contaminated with germs from rotten feelings
Proliferate stealthily
Fucking with aqueous corpses
Mixed molecules
Give birth to a chimera
Not able to live
Not ready to die
A hand kills a wounded heart
A foot crushes the delicate seedlings
Made of light and silence
Not always accrues something new
when something dies
There are these ticks
They are holes in which each word
Without echoes
Is lost forever
Unheard
©Wortflorist