The dots on the wall become bugs; crawl.
Your second skin implores you to buy in.
Allow the separation of sanity to fall,
Like the rain of grace, with razors instead of peace.
The vociferous outward expression;
Expulsion of your need for relief will win within.

A point of ridicule; that trivial, embarrassing decision
Will give you everything.

Yet there will always be a hunger for the increase of heart beats,
A thirst for shakiness in your breathing,
Lust to scream in all of your thinking,
Demonic desire residing on your closed eyes and in the corners of glass and lightless seeing.

Only when they chase have they preyed.