Muck.

In the belly of the beast,

I’ve survived many times,

but barely, it was never an easy job at the least.

And this time, it’s different,

as I stumble my way through the throbbing flesh,

and the mistakes hang on me like slimy  muck.

I’m on the tail,

I will not stand around trying to be so self-righteous,

when I’m not perfect.

You’re not prefect,

and for starters, if you try to be, that’s a flaw too.

And all this time, memories are chained around my neck,

and I forget the rest,

that’s my strength.

What’s yours?