the bounding power that is called my skin
is not doing the best job to contain and hold in
all of this information and zest that is misinterpreted in jest
trapped inside my mind, hiding up under a few dozen covers
blankets as i bury
deeper and deeper away from the light
waking up or dying, both are just as tiring
i can feel the cold amongst my toes
my brows are dry and i feel as if i too could be thirsty
nothing satiable
everything soluble
as thick as weeds in a garden
dandelions on my yard are now blooming choice for farming