My mood will snare and stretch you, Until you’re so long, That no nerve will be able to connect, Your feet to your head You will no longer be able to live, Pulled thinner than angel hair, Wrenched, so thin, that you have no end Do not come near my bed I’m not part of your universe To that I’m dead to my hurt, Now in concentrate, attracts debris, Which swirls round and round Things speed from the threshold of seeing, Towards me But I’ve got near vision And I can no longer see those which move on the far side Straps of words, wrap, then numb me And so I tire Refuse to bear the weight of air, and, Exhausted, slip into the alternative reality