Dream-squeezed eyelids open.
Wake up to the circus.
Iron out the sleep-scrunched face.
Too much colour, too much noise.
Thoughts – a pile of old Christmas lights.
The bed has me.
A cave littered with the husks of stolen, dead hours.
Grey-skin, glazed eyes, shiny with grease.
The world is both dull and too bright, muffled and too loud.
Things zoom in and out of focus.
A pit of hungry snakes.
No, a pit is too contained. An ocean.
Ah honey sure it’s not just you, think of all the brains out there devouring themselves from the inside
Like an oil spill
Steep me in formaldehyde
Womb warm
Let the creepers grow over me
Wrap me in their slow violence.
I curl and cradle.
And try not to cry.



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