Crawl

This is the crawl.

The low spot,

the mud hole.

There’s a quagmire

between every struggle upwards

and every mad descent.

 

This is the time

when you don’t want to wake,

you don’t want to go,

or take another step,

but you do anyway.

 

Fear of going on,

is hounded by fear

of staying here

and dying here.

 

Even when the mind

can conceive of no other,

the path goes on,

on the other side

of this bullshit,

quicksand,

cesspool.

 

When you have no strength left

to take another step,

and every time you do,

you’re mired in the shit;

you crawl.

Crawl.

 

 

HG – 2019

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