The Slug
Slime, sliding, sludge-like; words that all describe a slug
Yet, that is how it feels,
How it seems to be in this mental hole
And yet again, in reality,
It is going by decently fast
It will be over soon enough
This will surpass, sooner than I think
With no trace, except a clear substance
Just a slim trail of almost nothing,
That will remain for an even shorter amount of time
On the surface that was touched only for moment,
On my brain, on my heart; the surfaces affected by this trail of slime
The surfaces that matter most, will be affected most
By this ghost-like ressemblance of a slug, by the memory of it
By the slug, by you, you are the slug
You selfish creature, you slug; needing nothing but yourself, caring only about your needs and desires
About the Creator
Amber M
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Second Tuesday of November
No one knew how the event really started. Between a few beverages at the bar, maybe? Notes passed carefully on the street? Or, perhaps a secret meetup at early hours of the day? Whatever the root source was, we were here now on the second Tuesday of November. Nervous, but also absorbed by the allure.
By Elizabeth Petit3 days ago in Fiction
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