Bouncing thoughts in my head,

Trying to form words into phrases,

So that they make sense,

To anyone else but me.


And I open my eyes,

Some say they are hazel,

But lately they have been this sick, sad shade of gray.


I can feel it,

I can see it in my reflection,

Bags under eyes,

Butterflies coming after me,

Harmless, but I choose to chase the wind.


Sick and twisted perception,

I am not afraid of you,

I am afraid of your many legs,

Twist into something small that I can squash.

Crawl back down your drain and die,

I am afraid of your many legs.