It Wasn’t White

...Or 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

Scraps of words, wrap, then numb me

And so I tire
Refuse to bear the weight of air, and
Exhausted, slip into the alternative reality