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Pests
The bugs are crawling,
In and out,
Through my brain,
Out my snout.
Rippling skin,
I know they’re here.
I hear them clicking,
In my ear.
Their grinding teeth,
their gushing pulse,
I feel my stomach,
Begin to convulse.
Retching, gagging,
Searing pain.
A life like this,
Cannot remain!
I grab the roundup,
and fill my cup.
Drinking deep,
melts tongue to nub.
Burning, scorching,
Great masses of gore!
Finally,
Those pests are NO MORE!
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This piece was inspired by Shel Silverstien's music from his Inside Folk Songs album. I present this today because I am in a creative writing class that is currently exploring publishing.