vines of envy

I feel the slow vines
of dark envy
creep along my spine,
circling my throat,
taking hold of me
in its spirals,
sucking me
into a vortex
of an uneasy silence,
where I cannot hear
my own self cry out
to the same sun
that we all seek,
where I cannot feel
the same breath
that surrounds you and me,
where I cannot smell
the aroma of the moist earth
from where you and I rise,
where I can only feel
what the world feels,
what must not, cannot be said,
for there is no place here
for what lives in the dark,
where lines and forms blur
into one amorphous
glowing, growing blob
that cries
of unspeakable,
unthinkable
devotion.