Saturday, March 16, 2013

Inchworm

Something
is on my mind.
I cannot say,
but it's you,
and you, and you.
The metamorphic
returned last night;
it threw curses 
upon my head.
Questions swarmed
and touched my fingers,
but erased every time.
To pry, or not to pry.
I'd rather let
everything stay dormant,
hidden--a sleeping dragon--
than to tickle the beast.
Though the worm
inside my brain 
continues to eat it through;
mulling it over, licking its flavor,
chewing and chewing
and chomping it down.

--Emily