Creation

I’m cornered by a silent still pressing need.
Burning insides of skin, tugging, scratching scrawling from within
Waited too long, it shouldn’t have come to this
Burdened, my mandate, my reason , my quest, clogged
Stopped stagnant, a celebration in muck, oozing with puss
The needs still there, in the warmth it resides,
Not harsh, but silent and still as ever , a tickle now
Pangs, rumbling roar, it beats, it kicks
My word its alive!
Tearing, threatening to divulge
To birth, to jettison , to excrete