Ant Smith

All poems

Got a life of it's own

The
Pizza from the weekend curls up inside the box
Stuck behind the settee in a land that time forgot
I'm swimming in the beers cans seeking what I lost
I come across the carpet and I'm a little shocked
There's a burrowing, scurrying, scabby little thing
It does a little dance and takes off on the wing
With a hundred thousands others of its siblings
In thirty seconds flat I'm choking in their midsts
I feel their little fangs a tearing me to bits
Taking little chunks from out me fingertips
Recycling my body my flesh and my bone
I wonder what has happened to my lovely home
Oh my god it's
Got a life of its own