This inside insect skeeters, swishes
Fly be gone, be taken away
Mosquito twills around, cause anxiety
buzzed sounds surround me, jump tic heads shots teetering madly, looking every which way, madly wildly reviling dark beady buzzard hounding me, atrociously devilishly. Little demons with scabbed wings hovering around, taunting and judging soundly; my punishment for past deeds, evil deeds bring more than guilt.
The mind is guilt, gilded guilt beguiling my rotted sensations taking me further into loathing and hatred and violent endings that beg me for satiation, end that twisted knife, end this vexation of everlasting demonic presence such lashes upon me, in mine head and mind such sadist panoply. Little demons come haunt me in vile, filthy forms and buzz and choke and crawl jittery there and here.
Thither dither and wither heather fair feather friend whether weather or better. Not escaping terror and paranoiac attack these bugs bring forth and froth in/out my body; bugs stick to this, this skin slithers and itches and feels akin to wickedness and sin and ness of the Other kin. Kith kin, kol kiln, kill sin, cull men, inculcate principles to rid of insectal hauntings, wantings of washed airs and clean skin, skin clean fresh new. Nu. Still feel it, they them, knew. Silence now, but more judgement soon. Buzzards come back when I forgot my penance. Guilt is more than beads and sweat.