The simple stroll has gained significant difficulty
No matter the surface I traverse I track dirt
5cm thick of mud and grass
As I pass hour 2 walking on concrete
6cm … 7cm … 8cm
I’m shocked they let me into the cafe
I can’t make it out with my eyes
But I feel the eyeball coming out of my palm
And the tentacles coming out of my pours
What to believe in the end?
The sight or the follicles
Each one making an argument for being ground in reality
Maybe there’s only one way to find out
Give into the quirks my twitches alluded too
And act on that split second desire
To tear myself apart just to see how that goes
Grab the Gillette and disconnect the webs of my fingers
Pull the eyelids from my brow
Peel back the banana skin like Krokodil
And see if any of it is really there
Feels so real to the touch
Even that which can’t be seen
But again who am I to believe?
I’ve not had a witness corroborate it in days
Even so they might feel it too
To terrified to admit it to the world
Are we all deluded by the creature underneath?
Like Lovecraft, would it drive us mad to really know?
This coffin is suffocating, I’d love to rip it all off
But the outsiders concern confirms what’s reality
Least in the ballot of the consensus
Even then is that to be trusted?
Cos the soil is still sticking to my feet
Yet the floor remains spotless
Lnc0
Domestic Poetry 