burrowing thoughts

build me a space where i dont even have to think about it, i just know i can do it. build me a place where i am so sure of everything that the questions in my mind have stopped daunting, crawling, haunting over each other, deep into the walls of my brain, burrowing holes like cockroaches that have no idea where they are going but are still in search for food. and perhaps the thoughts arent the cockroaches but perhaps instead they are me, i am them. a burrowing thought dragging deeper and deeper into tissue that was never meant to open, flesh that was never meant to split. it cries and divides under my claws and nails, but its not enough to stop the constant, drag, hit, drag, push, inch further and further till i can find

something

worth the dig, worth the time, worth the effort. is there something in there. or am i digging at something that isnt even there, maybe in the completely opposite direction, but here i am, a thing that doesnt think about whether or not there is error, theres only instinct. what a blessed thing to be given the instinctual habit of knowing where to go and not feeling ashamed when instinct led you wrong, because if it does, you just accept the loss and start digging the other way.

spontaneity has never been my strong suit but whats spontaneity to a cockroach who has no use for overthinking