my berries sit cocooned in cold fuzz

I bin them unopened with yellow gloves,

I thought I'd have made porridge by now.

 

the ham is speckled, the bread stale

the korma and balti the same shade of brown

I dip the crusts in my mystery sauce

as I scroll with sore thumbs.

 

now when I smell surface cleaner 

I think of all the fruit flies I've drowned.

 

the perpetual ticking bore into my brain 

so I put an end to my torment,

tiptoeing around cardboard settlements.

the batteries lie on my bedside

one day I'll miss the march.

 

the only parts I remember

flashes between subsequent snoozes

splashed in puddles of celestial light

palms kissing baked dirt.
squinting at the sun

fingertips numb gripping

hand-me-down handlebars

 

rolling downhill tapping the brakes 

so I don't fall too fast

smoking pencils on a dirty duvet 

to kick a habit I never started

old socks loose change and 

years of suspicious stains

 

there's a slug on my wall 

and it won't stop climbing