pulling in like a snail to shell
wet, sticky, dark cool and safe
harbored resentment built from pain cringing in salt

to the wound
stinging all over

working on the inside
melting and waiting to burst with beautifying release and liquidation of pent-up emotions gathered over years of sliding among nettle fields
staggered by the broken paths lagging pauses linger just before jumping
in towards tomorrow’s hope for solace and retribution