Thoughts Bugs

Got that itch,
that little tickle.

At the base of the neck
lower really,
between the shoulders.

Building there,
festering and spreading

Little microbes of feeling
multiplying and burrowing
under the skin.

A seething mass
putrid thought amoeba,
pregnant with pain and old emotions.

Trapped and trapping me
looking for escape.

Drugs numbed and drink distracted
sickness and hangover masked
Wounds still festering untreated.

Rotting and deepening unseen
entering the blood
breeding and boiling there.

Till the infection floods the brain
exploding into a red riot of rage,
and the sharp blue steam of pain.

Until, system in revolt,
the body breaks down,
defences fall and fail.

The years of fear
escape through any crack,
exposed to fresh clean air
burn all the more for it.

Aching be treated correctly, slowly,
with love, patience, and you.

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s