Cluttered.

Reaching for a light switch as it 

transforms into a ferocious beast, 

words fly from my chaotic mind,

at record speed, then slip out 

from between artificial teeth.

I boil water in egg yolk, 

then eat a banana peel, 

put my pants on backwards, 

and fail to separate what's fake 

from what I once knew to be real. 

Elvis wails as Ella croons

inside my head, the whole day through,

and I sit, confused about the way 

that Billie Holiday could somehow

sing the colour blues.

Horns outside my window transport

me back to safari elephants,

as I become convinced that they've

returned to give me a taste

of my own medicine.

In my return to innocence,

where everything old is new,

I stop to smell the flour,

for life is far too short to spend 

each day retightening loose screws.

Arachne.

Carrying her sorrows in silken sac,

unwavering whilst weaving wildly.

Under a sombre sun, or callous cloud,

she spits, and hisses;

feeling jilted.

Centuries since she's 

been hopeful;

eight eyes, wide open, 

filled with wonder.

Mourning every almost happy ending,

crushed as she counts 

one less blessing .

Scarlet letters sealed 

her fate as a spinster,

wrongfully accused 

of eating men for dinner.

Society classified her as 

a sinner,

once jade, emerald, 

but now black widow.

So she spun her salience armed for battle;

no army could have anticipated her arrival.

Adorned in a coat made of her ex-lovers.

Hell hath no fury like the venom inside her.

World War U.

As I stare into the end of the bayonet,
my grief enfolds me, disheartened that I have sunk so low.
Saddened to have finally reached the end of the line,

my last breath catches in my throat
as I prepare to go home.
The images of my life arrive, like clichés,

to flash before my eyes; I watch unfazed,
and even through the happiness, all I see is failure.
I am immune to optimism, idealism failed me.
But seeing the reality of my world is what cured my insanity.
Accepting that I was not perfect painted my canvas with the brightest colours,
as I found myself in corners of the Earth I had only seen in magazines.
The selfishness of my final act is not lost on me,
even though, try as I may, there are loved ones who I cannot let go of.