Squirming Worms | Poem

Squirming worms of dread

of deepest desires and unfinished threads

of words you thought had been finished

until you heard the whispers of them again.

Walls have marks of the things

sliding up and down

until their silky bodies fall

and writhe on the ground.

You asked yourself if it was your fault

that the worms had not been killed

but you remember all the feelings,

how they made you want to keel.

Squirming worms of dread,

on the walls and in my head.


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