I may soon have no molars.
I can feel the remains of the last one.
I fear I may have to go through the painkiller regime again.

In other news, I have come to the conclusion that I can feel. And, not just bad weather.

I'm certain its wrong to go back in there. To remember the way, through the narrow streets.
To look around, taking in what lies there . Taking in every little detail.
To peep from the corners. making sure I'm well hidden.

Wrong to go in.
Wrong for the hair to still stand when I look around.
Wrong to allow for images to form.

One of these days, I will be taught to do that which is right.
And, the water will seep in through my head.

‘You’re the water in the coffee filter. The powder can be separated no more. I have no existence outside you.’

I am at a place I've never been to before.

Where the claustrophobia is enticing and big words are forgotten.
Where he wills and where he wont.
Where mind and body are given to another
with underwear thrown in between.

Where farcical institutions make romanticized sense.
Where the insides clog up and boils are grown.
Where words are trivial and refuse to breathe
and numbers will soon take over.