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

But rather

A botanical place of serene happiness