Guilt blooms in my chest like an unwelcomed garden.
But luckily I chose to weed them out before they had any chance to stay and wind around my heart.
Pain grows like thickly thorned vines
It wraps around with a vice grip,
Tightening and tightening
Restricting and restricting
Unless you choose to clean your garden
In which it will then bloom pretty vines with pretty flowers
And you’ll notice the pain has faded
And the thorns have healed
So now your garden isn’t a hollow labrynth of agony
A botanical place of serene happiness