Thoughts like rats
invade
my every mental
sanctuary.
The vermin army
a creation
of my own imagination
on the march again.
Some are lonely poems.
Some are teardrops.
Some are shards of glass
Some say
barkeep
more of the same.
They gash
and nibble
and chew
When driving
or working
or sitting poised
on edge
of bed.
Here they come
to fill me up
with regret
and loneliness.
Spinning infestation
GO AWAY.
The rats of the past.
The teenage rats.
The female rats.
The rats of fear and doubt.
The rodent
war machine
on a mission
of civil
self-destruction.
There will be no
stopping
the marching,
at least
not for now.
By sextonpoet
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