Slow Rot

The soil is a swamp, a thick, black sin.

I pushed the water until it ran thin.

The ceramic base is slick with the mold.

I’m heavy with secrets I haven't told.

I tried to move it away from the light.

My thumb caught a needle, sharp and white.

It stayed in the callous, a tiny, hard tooth.

I’m ashamed of how much I hide the truth.