vole

burrowing
into the soft soil
not seeking
a way out
but a place
to hide from
all of the things
just out of
his feeble grasp
less escape tunnel
more tomb in
haphazard design
a place far
from the sight of
those that barely
acknowledged
the voleman
was even there
to begin with

if they knew
how much he had
been struggling
if they had
cared enough to ask
instead of ignoring
his imploring
exacerbating
his need to
fall inwards
to roll up
into a ball
to protect his
bleeding little heart
would they have
acted differently
or would their
false sense of pride
kept them locked
in the silence
that drove him
under the ground

he has no time
to consider this
driven by panic
his fingers tearing
at the hardscrabble
ground desperately
a small mound of
upturned soil
the only memory
of the friendships
casually rejected

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