Sticky

Sticky liquid travels down my forearm
Tracing an orange line, showing a route to take
If only I could see it.

Tickling, it ties me to the oak grain
A captor, not letting me free
Wanting me to become a part of the furniture.

I tear away from the captivity and look at the effects.
A pattern of red dots multiply before my eyes.
Excusing myself, I quickly depart.