I realise too late
What a disgrace
Movement -
I should move -
But my legs refuse
Rigid
A look, frigid
I bite my lip
And then I slip
Into the bog

I am coming undone
A net of fraying threads
This truly is dire,
Now I'm in a quagmire
Immovable
Irrevocable
Everything is lost
In the muck
Stuck -
I cannot pluck
A single thought
From the matter
That is my brain
Restrained
Detained
Complaints?
Talking -
But I cannot compute,
Cannot refute
In disarray
Estranged
From the real
Enwebbed in the surreal
Thyself, congealed
Thyself half revealed
Then cut short -
Not in thought,
Out of sorts
I must abort

A flicker,
Then I am here