squashed mushrooms

I squash mushrooms in my garden

Whenever they start huddling together.

It makes my anger bubble less.

The scribes sit at the corners of classrooms

Watching with those slits for eyes,

Waiting for someone to tell them how to think.

There are wasps hunting me anytime

Something other than loneliness enters my lungs.

Carbon dioxide is never enough for me to feel something from.

Maybe there is a staircase hidden inside the old grandfather clock

That is slowly wheeled over to me in my nightmares.

It always seems to represent judgement

And some kind of superiority complex

Coming down to nibble on my ankle;

Like a snake whose fangs are as smooth as marble.

If I were to actually look outside my window,

I think I'd see a myriad of colours; some alternate shades

Of brightness.

Unknown to my guessing games.

I'm sorry that my stickered, glittering envelopes

Weren't full enough for you.

I've been listening to Sia;

Not hearing words; only the tune

As it escapes, seemingly whining because life is so heavy.

Until I get it in my head

That butterflies don't get another choice...

Once they're out in the sun;

They have to fly.

~