Mangled Web

"What a mangled web we weave," you say,
and I agree. I down drugs
to deceive my demons; when you speak
you slur your esses. So I try to break
the bubbles in our brains as they leap away
and laugh at me, but I don't hallucinate -

I just watch the world weave itself into
new knots. I always thought I was the thread,
but now I know that I'm the needle...
and you're the thimble. Our heads wobble.
Our bubbles' mettle bursts with treble trembling,
and you say, "unprick me now, you bastard!"

But I will puncture you until my pattern is
sewn into your web, or until you can wiggle
yourself free. "A mangled web indeed,"
I thought I heard you say. But then again,
the bubbles in our brains were made to dissipate,
and we trapped them much too late.


~09/09 - 04/10