It's (always) the petty things
that get under skin; get inflamed within

these splinters, they penetrate and prick,
like those who, not self-sustained,
feed on the energy of others

piercing sanity
on the brink of madness
like the layers between the princess and pea

The web of my angst,
in the catacombs and pods of subversion
are many, like honeycomb.

Were I a bee, one prick would suffice to kill,
but with a life of this acupuncture
the toxins must seep out
somewhere.

11/23/2004

Author's Note: a venting moment...

Posted on 11/23/2004
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