Uncelestial anxious oppugners', critics on their own

Wangling little dysceptic inklings';

Havesting in my throbbing head

I urch and search resolution

An escape of palputations

I skirm in sleep mode like earth-worms in the ground

The rings around their bellies; a suffocating mark of identity

Slime and ****, I mope like the straying mut

My growling topsy-turvy gut, off shut;

Claiming demands so supple

A nimbled and unfleshly sensation, I feel light to the touch

Splotchy clod's that lurch my lungs

Short breath that ache and lunge through ribs

Where they've sprung sprighly from their cage, they trick me, they're fibs

Leaches latching on to skin suckeling blood from an anemic

thin too thin, light headed again

Personification galvanizing so astute

my anxiety has eatin it's way to brood