My mood will snare and stretch you,
Until you're so long,
That no nerve will be able to connect,
Your feet to your head
You will no longer be able to live,
Pulled thinner than angel hair,
Wrenched, so thin, that you have no end
Do not come near my bed
I'm not part of your universe
To that I'm dead to my hurt,
Now in concentrate,
attracts debris,
Which swirls round and round
Things speed from the threshold of seeing,
Towards me
But I've got near vision
And I can no longer see those which move on the far side
Straps of words, wrap, then numb me
And so I tire
Refuse to bear the weight of air, and,
Exhausted, slip into the alternative reality