Hedera Silentium

Like ivy, thousands of tendrils weave through us,
Anonymity, a fertile ground.
Fast-growing, hugging tighter with each move,
Slowly choking off air and spirit.

Tendrils dig their way in,
Piercing vines,
Through skin and flesh,
And into the heart,
A lullaby of lethargy.

As the tendrils grow,
So does their bond.
You evade my eyes,
Imprisoned, reluctant to break free.
Locked in, giving in,
Giving up on us.