Scribbled Thoughts

22:91

His friend expires in his arms,

curdling from life

as his use-by date passes

and his contents turn deadly.

Any attempt to convince people

se’s still consumable

fade away at the odour

and white fuss coating his flesh.

His friend squeezes too hard

and breaks skin to the

rot beneath, sobbing at

the mush, only half-solid,

that his treasured comrade

has become as it slips

from his grasp and

seeps into the world.

22:90

There’s disease in your mouth,

too much filth has resided there.

It has corroded away sturdy foundations

that now wobble and wait to crumble.

But perhaps it can be saved.

Cleanse, purify, rinse and repeat,

forego all deceptively tasteful treats

that hide decay within.

Listen to our treatment

or we’ll throw up our hands

in a righteous sigh

as we wire your mouth shut

and let the corruption spread.

22:89

Rehydrate my shell

every three days

so I can continue

avoiding, a master of hiding.

A hiss is my warning,

an empty threat,

because I’d never leave

the comfort of my home

to enact it.

My lack of presence is a worry,

and so this way, I know,

you will actually

be thinking of me.

22:88

How old are you, exactly?

Narrow it down in years,

months, weeks, seconds.

Let me pinpoint the exact

expectations it entails;

your maturity, position, views

and pre-determined path.

Anything that strays will be

tutted and judged.

Tick-tock, dearie, tick-tock.