I Tread Septic Ground

My days become,
My mind adrift,
In seas of mud,
Inside a box of my own thumbs,
The puppet finds its voice

I tread septic ground,
I climb shaven sounds,
No lips can shut it out.
This infectious lathered foam

It chips away,
Under my skin,
This salted wound,
A frozen lake,
I walk across,
My weight to take,
A breath with no direction,

Under nails,
The flesh,
A lesser scale,
Reveals the stain,
A branch of thorns,
A bed of snakes,
A box of locust….I’m insane.

The taint so every lasting,
Has been me since I was young,
The longing for a second free,
Take motive from the drum,
This pounding leaching change of course.

I accept / I am done.


2 thoughts on “I Tread Septic Ground

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