when insomnia pounds

like spooked black horses

and paranoia trickles

like a light shower

down the green gazebo

and when fear hibernates

like the infant spider whose

parents you lose one of and

take the other back to your house

and when your eyes split from

dryness like a snow meringue nest

from standing guard

over your paralysed body

your eyes begin to fade

get lost

like the peg-legged penguin

that you used to see in the back

garden that has since been stoned

and your legs thrive in numbness with

a burden of blood kept safely inside

you pray for the return of normal

for what was nuclear and functional

and to what was obviously better than any

other and pray for what was missing

to return as salty tears whose eyes felt

left out and missing out slug out of cracks

in the irises like clotted blood of a slit jugular

in the fires of the christmas pud



This poem was inspired by Mario Petrucci, and his parting gift after he gave a guest lecture at Bolton University. I wanted to honour his style of drawing from raw experience.

As for this poem’s title, it is called… well, it doesn’t have a title, but you’ve got to put something in the title box, haven’t you? This is a poem for you to interpret its meaning. I have my own meaning for this poem, and people who know me may skew their view on this to accommodate that, or the tags may give some essence of a spoiler, but what I’d like is for you who read this to think that this is yours, and what these words would mean to you.
Thank you for reading, and I hope your week goes better than mine will.



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