An ant crawls up your back; booming
thuds of doom strikes
your chest repeatedly, invisible hair
follicles scream in cacophonous harmony
with voices in your head; the dread trickles
down to your legs: stalled like a brick, or
jumpy with sugar cocaine; the taste of
air matches your breath before it sours
yellow; you hear every second on
the clock, each breath becomes intentional,
a hummingbird chips away at your chest for
worms, the squirm crawling through your body,
red spots worn by the chronic of concrete, burgundy
dressed on top, a hat that blankets
the skull: a dressing, thin ranch; it branches off and
spreads across the dark plain,
black closes away the pain; sound gurgles
in the head with a piercing ring, it sings
its song before the ant crawls out of
the tongue; heart beats move to
the head: a throb caused by the force
behind, the killer of the mind, the
ant that escaped stood in place,
much like your face, a desperate
loss of color: a wrong side of gray.