The lonely sponge

Spongy mushroom

…and there I was, wrinkled and engorged in a twisty, putrefied wonder. Nobody would touch me, really, but everybody would cringe, fascinated by my wooden aortas. I sat alone and sobbed, next to a sinewy blade of grass.

I was covered in itchy sand, and only dead leaves would keep me warm at night.  Inside of me, ants were crawling, blind and ambitious, trying to find their lost galleries, like some chubby gnomes.You stopped for a moment, touched your sunburned lips, and walked away to pick up some wet Hyacinths.