without care for spice or flavor
and doubt, it’s plain companion
will gnaw the sinews of the heart
until the pipes begin to leak
pouring our blood into the cavities
leaving us empty
yet bloated and full.
Voices whisper without words
yet somehow they find themselves heard;
spitting ash in the mouth
and molten serpents in the ear
telling me that I’m right
confirming all my fears.
And I hold my pillow tight
and surround myself in bedclothes
in warmth empty as January sun;
and tremble not for cold
but from the shivering, within.