Body

Every time she reaches in
To slice the worm  
It multiplies—

Appears when least directed
Squirreled in her belly coils a traitor
Restless as her own black heart.
 
That soft-gutted squirm 
That slime trail secret 
That attacks her when she's sure it's out of sight.  

It's the crawling, self-made critic, 
Fierce battalion of the creeping,
It's the muck brown slither army
Surging stark and harsh and gray.  

It's the nagging, well-fed critic,
Turns obsession into weeping,
It's the fear-skewed self-perception
That has stolen one more day.

Every time she grins 
Blue satisfaction,
Cold clear parasite is mocking
It's her lacking, it's her weakness that's hard pressed to make it right.