Rusted red wagon bed
could never hold my pain,
now matter how many times
I loaded it up.

I towed it around
but it seeped out,
slow and steady,
out of its rusted holes.

Dripping to the ground
in small drops,
oozing back together,
reforming and crawling.

Heading back to my feet,
up my legs,
up my neck,
and in my ear.

Burrowing back into my soul,
which is its home,
and where it belongs,
as it is a part of me.