Wretched insects crawl across my frail skin,
Though the sensation proves to be phantom.
I lacerate my sanity, worn thin,
And gaze in horror at what I've become.

I ferociously claw at the slightest
Hint of a pest gnawing adamantly
At my many sensitive nerve endings--
I know I'm not thinking rationally.

Usually, I lead myself to believe
That outside sources are the root of these
Unsettling woes and disturbances,
But I plainly see the true circumstance--

It's only cruel trickery I create,
Fretful byproducts of my mind's poor state.