Worms

I feel like I need to write a letter. Tired of all these v-neck sweaters and pretense. I've lost the narrative and now it's just spaghetti all over the walls. There are people everywhere. I smell worms. I told myself that if I saw deer it must mean you love me. A cardinal flitted above my head but I could not hear his message. My subconscious has died and will not rise like the bread I tried to bake in the spring even with new yeast. Psyche has a butterfly tattoo that needs work done. You're a bitch with a skull and crossbow but your arms are like momma's womb. I forget I am being watched.