no no
i can take this. could do this.
not that. not this.
not it crawling off my fingertips
not it in motion
oily on my skin
slick and sticky and sick
and its roiling in the ridges
of my cold fingertips
stretching it self thin
small tentacles that grab
these plastic keys coiling round them
like a snake before the crush
then sinuous as can be
disappear
and i never knew
never understood where it went
that sticky evil that's coated my mind
it grows at night and laughs loud
and then moves
and now i know
now i know what this is
this last step
turn of the screw
twist the knife one more time
its been crawling through these plastic keys
into the door i'd give anything to lock
been letting itslef in
did you notice the first time
your fingers turned grey in the light?
because i know now
that you wake gasping in the night
with the faces before you
and your hands empty and aching
i thought i could do this.
not that. that you too bear this.
i'd take it back if i could
i would i would
take it down with me
into the dark it loves so well
and leave us there
both it and i
the culprit in this
your nightmare and mine.
did you notice
the first times your fingers went grey?
2 comments:
what a nightmare..
I liked "it self" instead of itself,
youre full of clever little things like that.
--
this is lovely and sad and hollow,
I liked it
i wrote my reply on your wall.
but here i will say,
thankyou.
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