the more i
read the more i
withdraw the more i
want to curl tighter into myself,
like a pangolin defensively coiling and waiting until the threat dissipates, or disappears....
i want to move away from me
to somewhere remote, maybe
uncharted, and cut myself
off.
i'm exhausted from this exercise in futility
this famously fatal
inescapability, this twisting and
turning, swirling and circling...
the slow
debilitating and degenerative
atrophy that belies
our own oft rumored and whispered about brilliance