Poem: Unwanted Visitor

I went to sleep with two eyes, ears, legs, arms, feet, and hands. 

The next morning I woke up with something else attached to my body.

It was touching my leg, tickling it, and was moving freely.

I lifted up my covers.  The horror of what I saw.  The color of it made me sick.

Worse, it had ripped my favorite pajamas.

I hopped out of bed and grabbed a scissors from my drawer.

This thing was coming off one way or another, even if it meant blood might be spilled.

As I reached for this unwanted thing, it uncoiled itself around my leg,

and moved in the opposite direction of where my hand went.

I dropped the scissors, twisting left and right until I caught the end of it.

It moved in every direction, each time with more force, as it tried to get free. 

This damn thing thought it was cunning by bringing me to the floor.

I rolled toward the scissors, opened them with force, and closed the blades.

It sounded like bone breaking.

The rest of it swung wildly behind me, then coiled itself around my leg.

I cut into it again.  The two separate pieces struggled to stay alive.

The one piece still attached was angry at what was lost.

With my body lighter, I contorted even more, and that is when I saw.

It wasn’t something intrinsic, something within me I had created.