Steel pin claws pine for brazen company
underneath welcoming folds of delicious numbness mouse lays in warm arms, eyes swimming contentedly while Vultures gather outside of the mouse trap, taunting the mouse in final jeopardy, unknowing of the fate as inevitable as Autumn. Mouse can't see that the place of refuge is death, instead cling tightly as tiny talons twitch turn body into the side, push steel spike into rib flesh as dream tears dry on singed sanguine fluffy lies as dark flies gather to consume mouse when death finally arrives. The mouse trap hidden from prying eyes a, steel death spike underneath waiting to spring a loathsome surprise. Cirrhosis skies, purple clotted clouds Vein lighting shudders across the horizon of life's deluded miles. A million mice asleep each in their own mouse trap. Mouse sits suddenly sensing the trap. Pull aside the cotton layers, the deceit is revealed to screaming eyes. This was never your bed. This was NEVER your friend. Mouse bolts out of the cage before the trap is sprung. Vultures move to the next cage, this one is done.
0 Comments
Owning onerous memory, fledgling flapping mouths yawning nest-mounted in unsteady awnings
Dangling feathered Owls teetering-teasingly on the edge of falling down No good morning only asking strangers to unpick the monstrous dawning realisation that your mind has been pick-pocketed by cuckoo-faced porcine snarling raiders Raising the potential of living this life without any real idea how to stop life just from pouring from every pore, feeling poorly pressing against the door, unmoving, mourning. Removing orange stains from carpets where wrists were torn open blood-letting in letters using words as blades, fawning at every stranger offering you even a hint of relief from appalling flashbacks and PTSD dreams. Yawning. Sleep now, another trauma day is calling. |
by Paul Sinclair
Archives
November 2020
Categories |