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
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