Squirming

I am twisted,
deformed,
my heart has claws,
it scratches
my brain,
makes my reason
bleed.
There are doors.
There are doors
I can't look across,
can't feel myself,
don't know my need -
all I know
is a constant fear
of life in extreme
of ugliness
that hits my eyes
and suffocates
as my demons squirm
and bind my truth
till, paralysed,
I can't tell what makes
the difference
anymore.

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