Dirt

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Returning like a dog to its vomit
I am here.
Resisting and
Driving myself deeply into toxic soil
loving the smell of it.
Help me leave.
Let me breathe air once again
because the sight of acrid dirt makes my
mouth water.
The foul decay
reminds me of what I wanted
and the things I do not
need.
Neither the trust nor the beautiful good
sway that charming pull.
Down, down, baby…
I am nothing but a worm and there isn’t
much time
to break the spell I’ve cast
as I smile at my undoing.
Until it sinks. In.
The cold dark of the earth is a lonely place
and I yell and scream that this is not
what was desired!
Oh, but in the cool of the evening I listen
to a pair
of thunderous steps above;
the damp blackness.
Fear rocks the innermost of what is lost.
Where am I?
What I found was the lovely betrayal of my
sensitive nose
and comfort in the bitter flavor.
My face covered in the scandal of uncleanliness.
But a worm wouldn’t care if
it was filthy.
This was not what I was created to be,
why do I believe it is so?
Scrambling upward, the thunder reaches down
into the dread
and digs me out until I see lightning
bleed.
I beg to be named Clean.
Servant downpour falls and it is so.

Yet somehow,
every day,
the worm tries
to prove it never rained.

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