The Mud.

The Mud.

It’s not there when I’m asleep

I wake up in it

Dried, caked on my body and cracking as I struggle from bed

Then it’s moist

A warm, thick numbing substance

I slog through it for daily tasks

Well I try

It presses back

Sometimes it gets on my face

I draw a smile on it

I cry

Because I can’t breathe?

Or because it won’t take the last of my breath?

The drugs thin it a little

Just enough

Go to work

Come home

Girlfriend’s sunlight smile

Video games with brother

It retreats for a moment

Then blissful sleep

The Mud.

I wake up in it

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