Ick

Ick
It's that feeling in my gut
The bitter taste in my mouth
The rank smell in my nose
The white noise in my head
This foreboding of something unwanted
coming towards me
It's that worry that I've misplaced something
the worry that I've missed the picture
that I've been blinded to the fault
of what really is
and not what I want to see.
It festers and grows
ravenous and insatiable,
eating out my insides,
seeking out that sliver of peace
I hold within me.
Unsure of how to face it
I lie here waiting for the light to come
and show me what I could not see before.
Or maybe what I would not
nor wanted to
see.