Insects skittering,
Many many 6 legs tickling,
Something foul and acidic,
Maybe poisonous ichor
Or bile.
Urge to scurry, urge to hide,
Rise of something warm inside,
Like blood to muscles,
Biochemical will to thrive.
Gather courage.
Sticky darkness,
Grasping twigs, lashing branches,
The path new-created for this purpose.
Mud, smell of rot,
Croaking last breaths of the dying.
Walk fast.
A tree that bleeds,
Stars that glare coldly in the opposite direction.
Malicious light,
Even rocks are inward-turned.
Rains harder.
A warm hand held in the chilly fog,
A heartbeat of almost fetal comfort,
A mantra of sunshine and thunderstorms,
Awaken.
This page copyright to Sarah Morehouse, January 15, 2000.