Piker Press — Weekly Journal of Arts and Literature
April 27, 2026

Self Destruction

Poetry about looking around for the source of the mud that clogs our vision ...

Crouching
In the corner.
Hiding,
My face,
My eyes,
My heart.
Hiding,
From the handfuls
Of mud,
Cold,
Sticky,
Heartless,
Mud.
Flung
By friends,
Enemies,
Lovers.
Weighing me down,
Holding me back.
Dimming the light from the life-giving sun.
Until shivering,
Cold,
Alone,
I realize,
My enemy is me
And with
My face now clean,
I once again,
Raise my eyes to the sun.
And gratefully,
Smile.
More by Tyler Willson → More poetry → Full issue →
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