The real worm of the earth

 He hit 17 like a worm in compost
poking up and wriggling insanely
falling onto the topsoil exposed
allured attracted vitality surging

but like a worm still blind
seeking the warmth of the brood
of the decomposition and darkness
aimlessly sewing through the mess

once up to the sunlight its all shock
for the worm mistook itself for the soil
once alone and exposed disoriented
The sun an unscrupulous judge dries him

Into a thin shred of purple red leather