Way down deep they seem to crawl,
They squirm and wriggle,
Creating a disturbance in my equilibrium,
Which makes me lurch and reel,
All my efforts to kill the bastards while they sleep,
Seem to only perpetuate,
A gnawing discontent.
I put them there so they could die,
Buried in the past,
Disregarding all the protestations,
Ignoring silent screams,
It’s decades now, they should be gone,
But now I’ve come to know,
Burying feelings doesn't kill them.
2/9/11
jkf
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