Slime ‘My Company’

Sloshing, rumbling, oozing into existence.

Your feet sink into the muck as you tread forward, never ceasing, boats beating off into the dwindling horizon.

The pack on your back less so weighs you down than grounds you, tethers you to the sandy earth that likewise pulls you downwards to its gleaming core.

This is slime. This is existence.

Realization glimmers as in the twinkling night sky—winking at you lasciviously, teasing you, coaxing you on to the fog-misted future.