Word of the Day Challenge: CREEP

Photo by Photo Collections on Pexels.com

Remember the Ivy that ran along the top of the garden wall?

Remember how I asked you to cut it back and you said, ” It’s only a little bit of Ivy, what harm could it do?”

Remember how  we watched the spidery vines  gently lay  itself against the stones day by day?

Remember how the Ivy crushed everything it touched?

We never heard the stones being turned to rubble, shouldn’t we have heard something?

The Ivy slithered  over the top of the garden wall, it covered the trees in the garden, it snapped their trunks and broke their limbs and entombed them it their waxy, pungent leaves.

Remember how the Ivy climbed up the wall next to the kitchen and through my bedroom window?

It laid it’s vines against my neck and around my limbs.

It crushed my bones and turned my body to rubble.

That’s what happened, I think.

It wasn’t you, it couldn’t have been you. Your hands couldn never have treated me so cruelly.

It must have been the Ivy that crept along the top of our garden wall.

The Ivy that  you refused to cut back

that killed me in my sleep.

Photo by Jack Gittoes on Pexels.com