(Guilt of doing something, everything, this, not that, that before this and nothing –
and results of half baked buns)
like a acidic lava
somewhere in the vicinity of my appendix
and resides in an untraceable location of the brain
like a piranha tapeworm, that feeds on its own tail
infesting on drills that I bore at the back of my own head
lurks in murky pools of recorded lists of my failures to perform.
Insatiable worm dissects me with a salad fork and relishes me slowly.
waiting for opportunity, to swallow me whole in one big gulp
And will burp out fatigue and distractions.
That completes the circle of constant judgement.
That goes round and round, faster and deeper,
sucking me into a webbed quicksand.