loop

i feel overworked
with therapeutic mush
rumination and acquisition of knowledge as excuses to feel less alone
i hold my hand with the flight that fights me
i wrap it in intricate delicaces
dine on sordid answers
like a big mound of wool
so much suckling of strands
only wettens the tangles which cling to my uvula

every chew
only squeaks
against the gnawing
of teeth
as unravelling belief
can taste so disconcerting -

all i can seem to fake is just more damp knots
with the seeping of strings
my heart starts to clot
all that precious spit
- yet i lie in it -
soaking threads upon threads
which can't breathe, blink nor rest

but try as i might to still digest
i say "bring on the chew"

as all that i'm hoping
is to taste something new