March of the Centipede

A centipede roams through my head

Its tiny feet

Tapping on my brain

Affecting my psyche.

　

One pointy foot pierces

The soft gray matter

And I throw a pint glass.

Glaring at the pieces I wish

They would melt at my feet

Like T-1000 liquefying into a silver blob

Promising to deliver on a threat.

　

Another foot falls and digs deep

Tears roll down my face

Lips curling to catch the saltwater

And knees buckle, my weight

Dropping me to the floor.

I roll around in agony

Slicing skin on the glass

Claiming fame as a painter

Of hemoglobin.

　

The creature continues its march

Sudden giddyness overtakes me

As I howl with laughter

An eight year old watching cartoons

And eating cereal

Milk splattering the television.

A mirror catches my eye

And I cackle and point

My reflection mimicking the hysteria.

　

Snot, blood and tears awash in my mouth

A wonderful cocktail

Of Iron, Sodium Chloride and water

All catch in my throat

As I laugh, gargle and choke

My body seizes.

　

It all comes to an abrupt halt

The many-legged beast making camp

Content as it surveys the land

Sacked and pillaged

Content to let me rest a moment.

Author's Note

Criticism always welcome. Thanks for reading

Reviews

[M. Shepherd]

Intense dude. Centipedes are inherently unsettling so naturally a good candidate for the insidious forces that turn us into something unrecognizable to ourselves.
Voice is frank, straightforward,
I love "claiming fame as a painter of hemoglobin"
Don't think you need the phrase "affecting my psyche" - the rest of the poem says it.
Chilling.