The bramble scratch, the nettle rash,
the dulled machete’s feeble hack,
a year, a second, dizzied time,
its tendrils creepful, serpentine.
Half-drowned in dirty dopamine,
baptised by gremlin gods unseen
and devil dogs with rancid breath
scrape bloodied claws, scars snarling death.
The tangled thicket’s insurrection
thwarts progress in all dimensions;
crazy patterns, mazes turning,
muscles burning, melting, yearning
for any movement, for distraction.
Every moment, every action
trips-out troubles, tangles, tumbles;
a thousand cuts, a thousand stumbles.
A month, an hour, a life, obscene
to carry on, to writhe, to scream:
but on we must. So pain, so fear:
brambled, nettled, human, here.
