Horror.

It is in the margins that it happens,

This life.

With the sweat of my brow

I hoist high the sun,

And at night, as with a sigh, let it fall.

All the world is mine.

I am all the world. In me,

It writhes with joy and sickness.

When I feel it there, I want

To cut it out.

I feel like a terrible microphone

Buzzing and ticking and howling

All the voices I keep inside.

The world looks at itself in me.

It bares its teeth, its long, awful teeth

That sink a century deep.

It is a terror. It forgets

I am only human.