Someday, I will be killed by thoughts too mutinous to exist.
Betrayed by my own neurons. This I see bearing down.
Frozen in the headlights.
No escape, no escape for heathen children. No escape at all for me.
Rotting on the vine for all to see.
Rotting inside and clawing outward
Spitting at the same-same gawkers in vain
They come to watch me writhe and wither
Drought bringers outnumber the water bearers by far these days
Stealing a little piece each in their grubby hands
I feel the holes and gouges they create
Where I've started to turn to dust and blow away
A cold wind calls them out with dull pain
that sometimes spikes white hot and burns
A forest down to the soil