June 21, 2018

Sticky always

The morning thick,
Sickly with its wetness
Laden with the stillness
And you
are ill
Comatose in your waiting
Not restful, resentful
The clock bludgeons you
With its ticking
Teasing its ever present race
One pace ahead, two, three
And you are slowing, steady, ready
To keep yourself heading towards
Nothing, path veering,
Fearing what might be
if you keep on
But you do,
Muddy girl, weighted in your own ways
Stuck in your sticky always
Settled into the earth below



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