social anxiety

to the fugitive with filthy nails
in my entrails, kicking like furious infants
toward the nearest orifice exit;

to you who sleeps beneath my flesh,
you who writhe in my belly,
flattening your palms and the soles of your feet
against the sides of my throat, and clutch,
and pull the esophagus blanket in toward you

to the trespasser upon my brain cells
and my body, i say:
leave me. get out.
i do not want you here.

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