In it Slips (Memory)

In it slips,
Dank and clinging,
Like gray fog
Over a lonely marsh,
Full of the musk
Of decay and mud.
You can hear echoes
Of a sloppy,
Unwanted kiss,
As you try
To pull free.
Its grip
Strengthens,
Grasping like unwanted hands.
You realize
You can’t escape
Without losing
A piece of yourself,
And you’ll be tainted
With the fetid sludge.
Panic leaves you gasping.
The murk muffles sound
Isolating your struggles.
You try to calm,
Waiting for strength or rescue,
But you breathe it’s tangy scent
And feel it prickle
Across your skin.
Weight presses heavily
As you sink into the gloom.