A worm of doubt burrows deep
Into my core, searching for seeds
That contain all I may cherish;
The people I love, my hobbies,
My personality, my sense of self,
All being eaten away
by a micro pipsqueak, A low-level curr!
As I stumble through the streets,
A low hung harvest moon watching,
Stares in awe at my crippled ability
To set a course for my home.
It laughs, for it knows where to go,
Unlike my body, which begins to lose
Any control. Limbs transform into
Unpredictable jungle beasts.
All because of one simple worm,
Eating away at my apple soul.
This is an old project that I am posting mostly as I found it. It probably isn't finished, but I have no idea what to do about this poem. Any suggestions or ideas, please let me know!
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Thoughts and Techniques
PoetryPoetry and prose that are either terribly lovable and understanding of the human psyche, or are so weak in a thought process that you may feel that your time has been wasted. Either way, you have an opinion of the writing by the end of it.
