a latibule not unknown, for it's all my home

a puppet lives in my brain; animated only by those who give it instructions.

i overfeed it like a goldfish and watch it function,

as my mind is drowned in the torrent, silenced once again,

goodnight. it is time for bed.

thinking about myself is like reading a book for the first time.

i do not often let myself unwind,

throwing bones across the yard of my being,

a pit in my stomach as i watch my thoughts fleeing,

from the shade, the trenches, the hands and the arms

the trap of venom working its charms,

but i'll dig out a den and bury myself there,

and to make amends will kill me,

so i don't care.

-bax