the vile creature writhes
a limbless mass of wet flesh
convulses and spits
staring at the door
i dreamt it was your birthday
and that i loved you
a puddle forming
a sentence left unfinished
a dish best served cold
an old puzzle box
that opens a door to hell
two quid from oxfam
he will meet you there
tell you where it all went wrong
and what you must do
it knows everything
knows where you’re vulnerable
knows all your secrets
air leaks from the room
i reach out to touch your hand
my arm halts, frozen
a confrontation
standing up or staying out
weighing up the cost
in a dark forest
a tree trunk spans a ravine
we’re chased to it’s peak
this is what i chose
and make of that what you will
it seemed so simple
i’m a shape-shifter
i take the form of a bear
no one is impressed
fear creeps up my spine
the sense of being followed
from each dark corner
business is business
the flies are dropping like flies
but boys will be boys