When will I be free of this wad?

A daring creep;
an aimless shrink;
cutting circulation;
imbalance of hug and weep.

Take a stick and shove it. I say!
Groove throbbing, it doesn’t budge.
Internal groaning of my own
moves in for a neurological punch.
PopSwoosh! Miss.

Almost home now.
Trash these and then,
no more pants.