If I Got Up and Left

During my absence, the urge to abandon my life has been growing inside me, somewhere along the back of my skull. Note: yes, it really was more neglect than absence. The mass of the bug grows, like black velvet sludge, atop my brain, pushing against the walls of my skull, while it's tail slithers and snakes through my body. It creeps down my throat, entwined in my vocal cords, and wends its way around my lungs and liver. My intestines and uterus are hidden in the coils of this sly black adder. And it splits, ever so gracefully, to pull at the muscles of my thighs. The tails of this, this snake, this thing, this urge, are tied taut at my ankles, so thick that my knees cannot be kept still more than twenty minutes. It pulses, rolling its sinews inside me, urging me to go.