The Worm

It never quite dies..
Writhes when slit, yet,
for all that drama, it lives.

When I went into the water,
You knew I was gone for good.
So it is true, rebirth is sure.

You desperately clung on,
and imprinted yourself on my newborn.
The worm crawls its way into my new pliable ears,
swollen lips, protruding black eyes.

A Rebirth, but with
A Ressurrection,
because your selfish nature was never quite willing.

And so becomes that thing,
which fights the memories alone.