Hemlocked Heart

It looks so alive and I feel like a plague.
Withdrawn with deep breathing, alert in decay.
I can't feel the pulse of the war that surrounds me.
Suspended in dread, running from those who found me. 

My tendrils don't reach, my roots don't get buried.
Cut off and alone, the world's less scary.

The webs that surround me pull on my skin,
screaming "help us, we're drowning", but I won't let them in.

The grief overwhelms me.
Screams, death-rattles and spins.
Polluted and barren, a new game begins.