work no. 1

i can't sit still
as i feel
the inside of my hollow skin
fill with fire ants
wasps
pins and needles
my hair stands on end
and a cold sweat breaks
across my forehead
i flip over pages
in an abandoned
manuscript
you can actually see
the exact moment
that the life left my eyes
while i was writing it
i pick up the phone
and the exact tired words
i eat every day
get regurgitated back at me
as a question without form
 i come back every day
and still
if i tell one person
in this room
i won't be able to hide
anywhere anymore