Tripped up


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image courtesy of: extraordinaryintelligence.com

Tripped Up

The cat sat on the skateboard
while my son rode the
magic mushroom carpet of  insanity.

silently she turned her
squinting yellow judgement
on us then turned
to eye something more worthy
than our sickly, noisy shame.

he bled from the eyes and forehead
and new mountains raised
within his hair.
Red lava flowing,
clotting, creating islands
temporarily before his gnarled
hands drew them into fists
of agitation and anguish.

my heart bled

he punched someone –
a nurse I think, yet not,
for there were no nurses in his world.

he cringed and cried and pulled at his clothes
and mine.
he angered and swore.
he swung
and hung on for dear life
and cried out for someone,
SOMEone he knew, any face he recalled
who could rescue him,

Just hold his hand
For a little while
Pleease?

and then they let him go.

go to take his rage and confusion
into the silent but hell infested streets of pre-dawn
while all those land bound sleepers,
safe in their worlds of dreams
of monsters and devils and temptresses
never dreamed
that my son,
as sweet as daisies
with bright cheeky eyes
and dimpled cheeks
was passing.
tripped up by demons clinging to his heels
while the faces of bad magic
were trying to kiss the reds of his eyes
and wouldn’t let him rest.

and they didnt hear the cries that had turned silent.
his mouth
a cavern of sorrow and terror
bereft of noise ,
that distorted his face.
that screamed instead from his eyes.

but I did.

and then the dawn peeped through,
and perhaps realising that all the bad things
all the scary things
were contained within my son,
it broke through more confidently
and bathed in the safety of light,
and a warm flannel,
sleep finally came for my son.

silently I watched the eruption of cries,
dodged the outflung arms.
tried to breathe a rythm for him
and sang lullabies
in my head.

(c) GiddyBird

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