Slug

Oh my, I seem to have written a love poem. Woops. XD

There is a slug in breast,

Just where my heart should be.

It pumps slime and obfuscation

Instead of love and sympathy.

 

It gorges on my sorrows.

And wallows in my fears.

And when I try to smile

It wrings out, in place, some tears.

 

Shy of every sunbeam,

It writhes away from hugs.

Slowly back into itself, it moves-

My small, unloving slug.

 

But what if I’m mistaken?

And my slug is but a snail?

Who tried to find its way back home,

But simply lost the trail.

 

So here I’m lying, naked,

As the slime around me swells.

Eyestalks geared in your direction,

Because ( just maybe) you’re my shell.

Author's Note

Trying to get back into writing. Anything I could improve?

Suggestions on where to go from here?