A cavity to fill

So tiny and piercing
How that shit starts
Mid conversation
The tiny space under my
Exposed scalp
Begins a vigorous itching

I can deal
I can do this
No its not a condition
Or syndrome
Or some two
To three letter acronym
For a nasty habit
Or failure of the human condition

Push through
Listen harder
I can do this
Conversations usually don't
But can sometimes start themselves

And all I want is a parachute
So when I drop through this floor
At amazing speed
With little to no evasive margin
I can land safely
In the comfort of my own
Shitty little hustle
Running my brain back and forth
Over and over
Like a drill
Getting rid of my cavity creeps
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