Okay, so, my face is full of little pins and needles
That I stick there when I’m not using them.
They don’t bother me, and I just keep sticking
As I sit, hemming endless lengths of fraying fabric.
Suddenly, there comes a wave, a sudden freezing of my face,
Prickling at a million nerve endings, throbbing with defeat.
Enough, enough! There are far too many, though I never thought I’d see the day;
There are too many, and I clutch at the needles that fill my skin.
I rip them out, wailing piteously, spewing convoluted complaints
Concerning everything, save for what ails me.