A wasp goes astray,
Stinging my insides.
Bombards around wild
To find a vent out.
I clench my belly,
Pour out my lungs.
Heart pounds like it's
Stuck in my nose.
Sweat finds way out
Of my skin, but then
The feet turn cold.
Caught between the
Embargo of fight or flee
The legs quiver like
They've seen
Wolverine's zombie.
But can you escape
Yourself? The boundaries
Of yourself in your
Third eye?
Can you ever be free?
These inner revolts that
Are always squished...
Zombie apocalypse with
A happy ending.
For better or worse,
We always end in ourselves.
The Self is a dictator
Of third degree.