*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*