In The Dirt I Lay

Unfinished

Crawling through the mire and muck,

Unable to reach the next clean spot,

Unable to reach and become unstuck,

Smelling all of the decay and the rot.

A traveler alone in the dirt...

Slathered in mud and other debris,

Sometimes I nearly touch the sea.

But In The Dirt I Lay...

The illusion of freedom is a lure,

A lie told to the fearful among us,

Hoping to search for the cure,

That is left to become mere rust.

Author's Note

This is currently unfinished. I apologize for my absence and it's a very long story. Constructive criticism appreciated.