One bite of my tongue, will see my teeth as an enemy
blurring my vision from the tasteless anguish coming through.
Bones rapid need milk, let it sit in my tummy.
Rumbling or settled, it will remain.

Nerves are melted into brittle fine combs that split
my spine because of torment and rage stuck inside me.
Wishing for this to change, to transform, but let me feel
the sickness overtake my being,
because that’s what you want.