Words in my head, like flies on my brain.
The maggots, it seems, are borne from the pain.
They rot inside if I don’t take them out,
So I pull them apart and trade them for clout.
They feast on the fruit of memories gone sour,
Any hint of the sugar is quickly devoured.
I feel the itch as they burrow in deep,
Sometimes too much – take them out by the heap.
I inhale the green insecticide –
Another way to clear my mind.
But it’s never enough, they just keep breeding,
So I kee...