morning

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.
Medusa-mind:
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
Brain-a-buzz
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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