The Garden of Eden

It’s winter time, but I’m outside
Fingernails caked in soil,
Cheeks flushed with exhaustion

I’m growing a garden, as you can see.
One day it will be filled with life
Flowers will bloom with an awe-inspiring arrangement of colours
Sunlight will come again!

But for now, it’s and gloomy
And the seeds won’t sprout.
So I swallow the seeds as if they’re pills
Watching the snow around me melt away

Blades of grass poke out and peer at me
Except the grass is just a mattress
The soil caked under my nails is just a part of me
It’s not under me, it is me
I know it’s me because I can feel the life buried under my skin.

The insects crawl and frolic under my forearms
I want them out, but they just won’t leave
Scratching at the soil that is actually my skin
The dirt under my nails turns into skin flakes and blood

I look up to see sunlight, but it’s only my ceiling

There aren’t any flowers here.
The only thing that blooms is my brain
My spirit just withers, and I try to water it
Desperately attempting to salvage my soul
But the water isn’t water
It’s just my fears
Soaking into the roots of my problems,
Providing sustenance to my self-hatred
So it can continue to gnaw at me.

I try to tend my garden.
To till it with kindness.
But my hoe is actually a saw blade
Digging into the root-like veins

I’m screaming, but nothing comes out.

I don’t want my garden anymore.

Cut my brain-stem so I can’t feel the earth beneath my feet,
I don’t want to feel the insects crawling in this soil.

I grew a garden in my mind, with plenty of water and hope

But this water feels like acid, searing my skin
And all I hope is for it to be winter again.