Bitter is the Burn

The crevice opens wide,

yawns; tries to mold itself

to my size.

It's deep,

and it's dark,

but it beckons to me,

wants me,

yearns for me.

And alas,

as I fit nowhere else,

I sigh,

open my eyes to

cry at the worthless sky,

and defeated,

exhausted,

I slide inside.