Poem for the Inner Sinkhole

Originally published in Squelch #1

Dig a hole, fill it with dignity.
Neurotic tick. Teetering, feathering.
Linger in mental tilt post-happiness depression.
Slide into hot pit.
Bottomless pupil. Perpetual plummet.
Show your belly to ruination,
introduce the dirt to your bones,
long for pure departure,
die on the living room floor.
Beaten to depth. Prone to plunge.
When vision itches, you start to see patterns,
eyes in every direction.
You see enough roaches
and everything starts crawling in your periphery.