Skeleton Weeds | Teen Ink

Skeleton Weeds

September 11, 2014
By jennag4 PLATINUM, New City, New York
jennag4 PLATINUM, New City, New York
27 articles 1 photo 36 comments

Favorite Quote:
I write to be the characters that I'm not.

On the first of September

I aimlessly wandered into a meadow

Nothing to do

Nowhere to be

So I started tying flower-weeds

Together into a rope

The stems were pliable

Delicate, but not so that it would break easily


By October my rope had grown a considerable amount

But I still sat there

Tying more and more flowers

Onto my flower rope


In November, the weeds

Were starting to die

And I had to scrounge

For more and more to add


My bones froze stiff

When the first storms of December came

And my only tie to the past

Was the flower chain that I held onto for



New year, fresh start

I thought I was cold in December

But the winds howled and shrieked

And I could do nothing

But tie and tie and tie


In February my thoughts froze before I could even think them

And I wanted nothing more than the sun to bring back

The flowers so I could add

Just one more, just one more, just one more


March rolled in like a lamb

And I thought my prayers were answered

But I looked down at my hands and realized that they were on autopilot

Tying without thought or control

I feared my brain would be next


The April showers streamed warm droplets onto my frostbitten back

And no longer was I shivering, but embracing the clouds that I had come to hate


In May, the ground took its’ cue

My flowers popped up like the weeds they were

And I had more than I knew what to do with


I regretted my wish in February

When I begged the sun to return

Because it did in June

I took off my clothes, shed my skin, and panted like a dog

But not even the sweltering rays the sun shone

Onto my peeling back and scorched arms could stop me from

 Tying and tying and tying


In July I had to defend myself from the swarms of gnats that were attracted to my utterly disgusting perspiration

But eventually I let them take me

And my skin disintegrated into ash


Finally, in August, I cried out to my Maker with lips of a skeleton and chords of a mute

“Why did You send me to this beautiful, accursed prison?!”

No answer came, it never did

And I died with the flower-chain

Across my lifeless chest

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