The Indivisible Worm.

1. Scarlet Promises

I have all my mother gave me:

guilty, pretending affection.

All kisses strain love;

who could know (or guess)? A WOMAN.

The emptiness doesn't hurt,

pain is a struggle for fullness.

Emotionlessness a gene (like good skin)

that I protection faulted.

I land arse-first, like a blunt, drunk robot.

I had promised to be good

but only ever to myself.

AND 

I always was selfish: 

never showed my love, myself. 

And 

I became quite small. 

2. A Wilkes Withdrawal

Prone-positional pain,

that lump in my throat again.

Ragged disdain,

my self-moulded temperament.

AND ALL NIGHT I TALKED ABOUT MYSELF

in the uninsightful hope of someone liking me.

I read a poem and then sang songs and

MISTOOK MYSELF FOR A FUCKING ART SHOW...

again.

I was inwards of illusion.

"I am a problematic, pretentious social plebeian, and that doesn't begin or end!"

(That there were no solutions, I could not see yet).

Deeper down, I dislike my dad.

Now I malign my mother as well.

But TIME undoes these ragged stays,

that we lock into position with sweat, 

and keys of ribosomes and nucleotides,

and the black kisses of blood kinship.