Untitled

Here I sit
in the mud and muck and mire
moaping about
why,
how,
did I get here
yet again?

Apparently I'm supposed
to appreciate the smooth
dark
sensual experience

But all I feel is
the dirt
the slime seeping
in where it is supposed to be
clean

Life is messy
I'm told

I can barely manage
my own mess

So what do I think
can be gained from
uniting our messes
combining the chaos

It weighs me down
like a chronic illness
cure not even a faint possibility

But can I, will I
hope
for control?
managed chaos
making it through
with you