They slither over skin, a writhing wriggling mass
Of serpent scales, scraping against scabs I have amassed
Dragging through my streaming blood, don’t know if I can last
I need to scratch them out of every single crevasse
I can slash off their heads, but still they thrash, unsurpassed
Squeeze out their innards, retch at the splat as they go slack
Suffocate in snot and rage as hydra heads sprout back
Straining to yank them from my skull, but they hold too fast
I slip, slam, smack, landing on slimy guts in dead black
I screech, scream, weep, smashing them beneath my hands and feet
Fluids spraying, filth seeping, alone with no retreat
Shivering in desolate silence with all I lack
I’m disgusting, slumped in my cave of decay, discreet
The dark inadvertently sheltering as I sweep
Sickening clumps away so I may lay, plead for sleep
As snakes shift and slink their cursed hissing never complete
But sometimes, when I can no longer endure, I creep
Stooped and stumbling, fumbling and reaching, feeling
Crumbling stone and constricting air, stomach reeling
Heart beating bone as I swallow and choke, in too deep
Progressing or repeating, asking soft, appealing
To the sunken ceiling, how much more, steps or vast scores
Of curved corridors, collapsed paths, and opening sores
Searching for an exit no light will be revealing
There’s mournful relief in surrender, strange metaphors
In acceptance that slowly shapes the need to escape
Into an ache, draining strength, subdued as snakes now drape
I slide to the floor, smelling the earth after downpours
Scent drifts into listless consciousness, a spring landscape
Faint in my memory, longing too painful a state,
Let it dissipate; let me stay in scenes I create.
Starved, nothing real or fake can sate this consuming gape
Space alleviates putrescine fumes that nauseate
And though rot festers stuck to my raw flesh, the migraine,
Caused by a stench I used to sense, is less. Can’t complain,
It’s great here, someplace I have yet to contaminate
Someday I’ll be somewhere safe to forever remain,
All I have to do is wait, the swoosh so slight, a lie
A draft through porous rock, surety solidify,
Should I follow the fading fragrance? Mold is not rain.
Refrain from movement, stiff, don’t aggravate, occupy
Your mind, suppress, don’t concentrate, it will all subside
Won’t it, then I can hibernate, but inside, my side
Is seizing, stretching exacerbates, so why retry
I skim my fingers over my shoulders to provide
Distraction or short comfort, I want more warmth, I hurt
I hurt, conserve and squeeze freezing limbs crusted in dirt
As spindly legs traverse up my spine I cry…cried
For as a worm probes my oozing eye I stand, alert
Slick with mucus it’s hard to grip, to pick off my face
And cradle its squirming body as it tries to race,
Escape. Crawlers were scarce before, so can I assert
That there’s a split, that it’s worth chasing, counting my pace
Anticipating, that six forward or twelve reversed
In this spreading radius I’ll learn where worms slake thirst
My fist careful not to squish the hope encased, last trace