The Guardian

It does not matter

What I am

It said

From the end of the bed

Just trust that I know

What’s for the best

And I won’t let you

Be misled

From Under The Bed

Just because you didn’t hear it

She said

Doesn’t mean it didn’t speak

I think perhaps you should discuss it

He said

With your psychiatrist next week

I dreamt
I was
pulling
little
red
spiders,
from
deep
inside
my nose.

Why we
were
drinking
absinthe
before
bed,
who
the
fuck
knows!

I saw you
in the birds

I heard them
cry your name

Your tears were
in the river

Your passion
in that flame

Watching
over me

Like a shadow
in the night

Trying to give
me comfort

But just giving
me a fright