the Air

you Breathe

Will be

your Death

you See

the Taint

& Toxic

Caustic

#B27321

Chomping down on dead flaked skin cells

Bloated alien cattle gorging and slurping

Crawling on face, playing hide and seek

In your ears and nose while you snore

Too many to count of these micro horrors

Patiently awaiting your body’s largesse

As they lay in wait inside your pillow

Poised to pounce and graze on your skin.

Mirror, mirror on the wall

Who's the most judgmental of them all?

Am I fat? Am I weak?

Making an enemy of my own body.

Reflective glass tears my skin

Makes me shameful, outside in

Shards of truth to reflect my fears

No longer able to hide these tears,

Or these scars upon my skin

Reflective of an ugly within.

Mirror, mirror on the wall

Oh how you're the most frightening of them all.

There they sit, nice and neat, row upon row upon row. I let them in, let them breed, let them multiply. Now they outnumber me a thousand to one, or so it feels. They tower over me, surround me, watch me sleep, watch me change, watch me do nothing. Sit and wait is all they do. Perfect little predators they are, so alluring. No need to hunt or seek out prey, it comes to them. They are leeches sucking away your time and energy. Feeding you ideas, manipulating you, changing you. Filling you with joy, happiness, and ecstasy; simultaneously drowning you in fear, despair, and pain. Love and hate wreak havoc as they battle within you. Finally, they lift you a place of enlightenment; all is well, all is right. When suddenly, they rip the magic carpet right out from under you and your fragile face meets concrete reality.

Oh, innocent-looking thing,

So pure, so blank.

Such inviting blue lines,

To be written on.

But I am not fooled,

I know the truth.

You sit there, 

concealing the horror within.

Twisting my lovely words,

Changing them, making them

Into something else, 

What I never thought could be.

It sounds so strange,

Did I really write that?

I don't remember it.

How very odd.

And often, it stares at you,

Taunting you with perfect blankness.

Laughing when you can't think 

Of what to say.

Oh, paper, you menace!

Of all the things you do - 

Let's not forget 

About the worst of them all ...

PAPER CUTS! - my poor bleeding finger, what did it ever do to you?

What, so you thought the tree just laid down

and died when it was felled

for your household needs?

Think again.

It doesn't die. Instead, it just waits...

Waits for you to drop your guard.

Remember when you shunned the plastic bag

for the "environmentally-friendly" choice

and your groceries caved through the

bottom, splattering

onto the tarmac?

That wasn't circumstance.

That was sabotage.

Those planes that hit you in

the back at school?

That wasn't Bullyboy's free will.

That was mind control.

That time you cut yourself on the

edge of a single sheet and it

reeeeeaaaaallly hurt, and you

suffered in silence because

asking for a plaster

would have made you look like

a complete sissy?

That was no accident.

That was revenge.

They say bark is worse than bite.

Bark CAN bite, bitches.

Protect yourselves!

Buy Kindles.

Write online.

And don't get me started on coffee tables.

Staring at it I feel my heart pop,

My stubborn feet stop,

My useless jaw drops.

There it lies I thought that it'd been removed.

It sits there unmoved,

Nothings been proved.

Looking up to me it stares with its eyes,

I feel hypnotized,

But then I realize

That it is just a dead thing on the window sill.

Been lying there still.

Just dead kill.

Walking up to it it suddenly revives,

The things got nine lives!

I break out in hives.

I slowly back away as it creeps closer,

Fangs drawn, its over,

I have no closure.

the floor expanded,

immense latex plane, broad as the mall itself

"stand erect!" it challenged me

its perpetual stretches' monstrous grid's rubberized respiration

mingled my perspiration's escape's desperation vain

malignant belt's rolling manic undulation extorting adulation

swallows souls into its elastic core, its goal

i spied the exit door, this skyscraper's eleventh floor

lost balance entwined with vertigo

physics mocked my naked dance with her

she spreads herself apart like swollen super heated wax

a monster schism's evil bend

ambidextrous stretch, her prey elongates her womb

my being's atoms' mass a million tons each

immobile rendered, violated tendered

i spin awareness heightened

dante's hell enlightened

floor has me in its hold

compressed hundredfold

up is down, down not found

swim as drown with nausea's bile

elastic surreal, awareness spastic

thoughts taste like dross

reality's loss makes madness a black hole

nothing escapes its bottomless warp

whose floor opens Pandora wide

It didn’t take much fridge-perusing for Emily to discover what she was going to eat: sitting in a place of prominence, as though it were the king of foods, was a large home-made chicken sandwich. Perfectly presented, and still warm, it called to her as though it had sung a siren’s song.

She ate it promptly - no use letting such a treat sit on a plate when it could be sitting in her stomach instead, she reasoned. She had just taken the last bite when her husband had walked through the door.

“Hey, thanks for cooking dinner,” she said with a hug - and a cough. “Nothing like ending a long day at work with some comfort food.”

“What do you mean? I just got home. I haven’t had time to cook.”

She would have replied, if she had not suddenly found it incredibly difficult to breathe.