Little crawlies all around,
Made flesh by an obsessed, compulsive brain.
Spiders, flies and wasps abound.
My fractured psyche chips away.
crawlies
On pipes and pumps and filling bins
My hands incessantly play a refrain.
No substance with which I sodden my skin
Can wash the crawlies down the drain.
crawlies, Crawlies.
Whilst the insects congregate,
My peace of mind is theirs to take.
They follow suit to claim their slave.
Discomfort soon gives way to rage.
"Ira furor brevis est."
But the madness never lets me rest.
Vile, heinous, abominable worms!
I soak in chemicals to still my nerves...
Total insanity I keep at bay...
Little lies inoculate...
My dreams expire by light of day,
From quietus the crawlies rise again!
Crawlies all inside my skull!
crawlies
Rising up from every hole!
crawlies
Writhing, squirming, biting, stinging!
crawlies
Wash them all away.
crawlies, Crawlies, CRAWLIES!, CRAWLIES!!!!
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Author:
Alex Arnot (
Offline) - Published: June 20th, 2025 15:03
- Comment from author about the poem: "Ira furor brevis est" is Latin for "Anger is temporary madness."
- Category: Surrealist
- Views: 5
Offline)
Comments2
A most interesting poem about internal troubles that manifest in many ways. Very nice
Thank you!
An interesting write of the niggles, worries, thoughts in our mind and how they can manifest into something much bigger, Nicely expressed and written
Indeed! Thank you!
You are very welcome
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