i spit metaphors
and stumble to my knees,
i wipe similes from my lips
like blood and teeth.
i am pummeled with irony fists
as i stagger and crash
across barstools in anapest reels,
with splinters of broken
clauses enjambed in my flesh
and choppy flashbacks
blinding me, pounding my head.
i slip in spilled spirits,
scrabbling and scrambling
to steady my psyche.

i flail, i falter, i fall,
again and again in alliterative agony.

this is not a beating.
this is catharsis.

beautiful beast,
i can't let you free;
I have to keep you
leashed to my brain.
it's not a good idea
  for you to be running  loose.
you would be perceived
    as dangerous.
"hide your children. hide!"

don't struggle
against the choke collar.
        you won't starve.
  you won't starve.
                    you won't starve.

everything i want to say gets l ost in the fray.
don't struggle
against the choke c ollar.
      because it's choking me.
stay clos e by, keep me company.
            there Is plenty of food out there.
                                              there is plenty of fo od.
        there is plenty of fooD somewhere.

i  t hi nk
  you're too  scary to catch your    quarry.
i have to ke ep you  here.                              leashed.
all  you want is out of reach  anyway, mutt.
                    in the trees, in    the clou ds
                                                      on the  map,  in my hea d
                                in bits of  pap er, in bites  of          met alloids.

don't  struggle                                        ­                    you keep me alive.
against th e              choke        co llar.
y ou   won't st arve.
                        just feed    on                    me.
  j      ust                   ­                                             feed on m
                                    e ju              st
fE          edo                        nme.   ­                   b                    ea
                      ­    uti f        u                l      b            ea                 ­       
    be                                                   ­                                               st.
              ­                  a
                                             ­     u
                                      ti

                ­    ful
be
                          a
                          ­                    s[hi]t.

You have no idea what goes on in my mind:
thousands of flying insects,
buzzing,
biting at my brain,
spreading darkness,
and dots and dots and dots
of agony.
I'm spotted and I'm haunted
by sounds of the world below.
Madness turns me into pieces,
it eat me out alive,
it makes me bow my head down
on dirt,
and the dirt starts climbing up.