Didn’t you tell me

Not to eat my own brain with my thoughts

Those intrusive falsehoods that wind their way in

Like worms or spiders

Those thoughts that tunnel through the sponge

Which is soft and delicious and easy to digest.

Didn’t you tell me not to do that?

You told me to call you instead

A blessedly healthy alternative.

Yet when things inside me are going sour

Sometimes it’s easier to let it all become dirt

Rather than try to salvage the remains from further decay.

Of course I don’t want these thoughts to consume me

Because they are destructive and deadly.

But I keep thinking, as I stare at the garden we made

That if you rip everything out, down to the ground

Then the weeds will just continue to grow.

So maybe if I let these thoughts do the hard work

Of consuming the leftovers

Perhaps then I can call you

And you can help me plant some new bulbs in the fresh soil.