Friday, 13 April 2012

The Mind Made Up It's Mind

They fill my legs,
Clambering from everywhere
I can't see;
I only notice when they are there,
Under my skin,
Flat, round,
Spidery things;
En masse and slowly filling me.
They will come to killing me,
Feeding on my soul,
I know they can watch;
But I don't know why.
Can they communicate,
Are they talking about me.
Even if they could speak to me
I'd kill them still.
They're filling me up,
If they are even real.

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