Wallowing

Oh the words I think to swallow,

Bind them up here to wallow.

Yet venom comes from those around,

Burning into flesh with soft sound.

Oh I writhe, and hasten to run

But darkness waits instead the sun.

I fall to bottom wells of pouring wet,

Seep and sob steeped in regret,

Till waves of wash carry me down

To melt, pretend in placid crown

Of smiles and warmth, things I lack

I’m a rotted peel, I’m putrid black.

Suffocate beneath the weight

Before I find the exit gate,

And crawl out into the snow

Where moonlight casts a glow

Onto my frozen tears of snot

Till white cold is all I have got

And my skin turns blue.

What a painful hue.

Perhaps I will be tugged indoor

Warmth and blankets once more,

Where tea and patience wait.

Or perhaps that plea is late.