Seeds of Hurt and Poison Vines

Somewhere, some lost years ago, someone(s) planted a seed
of hurt.
Watered in wounded silence, fertilized by pride,
a vine emerged.
Hydra-leafed, the vine grew stronger, tendriling
Invisible save for the weighted shoulder,
the hesitant eye.
Thus tended, the poison-garden grows.
One day, a gardener enters to
tend and mend.
But the vine has thrived too long
and refuses.
The vine—what doesn’t?—wishes
to live.
So the vine does the only thing
it thinks it can.
And another seed of hurt has now been sown.
To break the cycle: garden alone.