Full of Myself

I don't take criticism well.
My foot goes in my mouth
and I can't help myself;
With jaw unhinged
I half-swallow, half-choke
on my own leg
and then the other.
Shins sliding down my esophagus,
I regret wearing shoes.
Would alcohol take
the edge off?
Well past the torso,
belly, chest, my lips
fold outward, inward, press
together in an incestuous kiss.
I wonder why I turn
on myself; why I
bend over backward
instead of forward, when,
one way or another,
I'll end up eating
my own words
and when it's over
I've come full circle,
yet I don't exist.
I believe all I've said
to be dismissive.
I am ouroboros.
I am oblivion.
I am infinity
and her finest
gray-haired children.