thanks, i guess (13/30)
{I sat down to write a poem… and was, like, “fuck it.”}
.
.
I was waiting for the bus
watching thirsty bugs climb toward the rain.
.
Worms writhed and reached their bodies out of the wet dirt.
The whole ground pulsed.
Clumps of mudding earth rolled as worms pushed through.
.
I was entranced and repulsed, but
I just stood there, silent and still, staring down
waiting for the bus.
.
I really am terrified of worms.
.
I am not afraid to die, but
I am so scared of my body being infested
with those things;
.
that is the only reason I am still alive.
That night, with the gun, before the hospital,
all I could think about was worms.
.
2 years later
waiting for the bus,
in my new rainy city,
I just stood there, staring down
not even angry that I was outside the ground,
not even imagining myself beneath it.
-
amy-everhart reblogged this from lighterthanwater
-
lighterthanwater posted this