I’m made of worms
And my skin is crawling,
Writhing in static black
I can’t sleep. Again.
 
This world
Is not of my choosing.
I do not hanker
For what you sell.
 
Confusion.
Something deep churning,
I want to speak out
But have nothing to say.
 
I could vomit.
A purging.
Half digested,
Incomplete.
 
I will crawl out
Into cool wet darkness,
Dissolve under trees,
Lose my worms into earth.