Venereal Disease

Another day spent waiting;
I've gone over my lifetime third, 5 per day, 54 per week..
Biscuit barrels sit and mock, because even they occupy more space-
my own bell jar vacuum inside my ears squashes my brain
in permanent migraine.
Maybe you won't even come. But each time I can't quite let you
...
and each crouch and rock by my pillow spells
... something.
I can't remember. It's lost. In beds too warm with girls too small,
and the beating of my overdriven mind
wanting contact,
a brush,
to dust away cobwebs tangled in my synapses.
And even then they'd still be embedded because I am trapped in me.