Entertaining a party of one

I twist and chew and braid
my hair backwards, leaving
bulky knots of indifference.

You yawn at my approach
to something so quick and simple,
but my mind thinks slower
and much more cynically.

Those sheets you punch
in front of my face are
your death notes, stapled
for my nod.

Do I sound mad?

Look at yourself
with eyes of a monster
and see where I come from.

I don't visualize clouds
or a rabbit's bitten tail,
they are placeholders
to my inner gut.

Let me list what arises:
foam, fangs, blazes,
internal bruising,
satan's halo,
your grubbery.