Skin itched by
sweat rash grown, on
my shoulders when rubbed
by clothes that don’t breathe

A ear is blocked
I can hear my own voice
Irritated by the sound of it
against some blurry, trivial noise

I cannot bear matters
that does not see itself resolved;
But more annoyed by
those who does and did not

If tomorrow always find things better
Like a clock with self-steering gear
— it intimidates me, the thought of
all midnight struggles futile

This emotional ball of yarn
is rolling forward and bigger
I lay all fingers to disentangle
only weaved them tighter

I am suffocated
by the impatience to spit it out
My mouth wide open,
the candy sticks in my throat