Whatever is occupying my mind
is scratching it's way out from inside of my head
and I can feel it between my folds and
hurling itself against my frontal lobe
and the cold isn't helping but the time is,
because I can feel the gaps in my thoughts now
and the spaces, perhaps, are greater somehow.
And I can't turn-off the run-on, but I can summon
the courage to suppress the urges to binge and purge;
I'll just indulge childish temptations and resist the satisfying
sensations of release until the sheets of snow blanket
the hills and all I can see, for miles, is white.