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Blister Packs - Matt Humphries

Second after second minute into hour time slips like watching boiling kettles never reach the crescendo of their short life

As the liquid gold slips silently, seductively into his blood-stream of cold numbness

The albatross has been placed on frail shoulders for him to bear for him to snare, for him to try on and comfortably wear

Weary from muscle pain, days the same and the little blister packets that maintain chemical normality in this insane world

With imprints of mild nausea, erectile dis-function, pounds and stones of weight swelling his mid-drift

Swirling in silent screams that slyly creep forward capturing comatose moments of deathlike sleep punctuated with surly sounds of each new remedy

They never worked - always shirked the responsibility of putting broken souls back together like cheap poundland glue fixing broken teapots.

The blister packs announce their mournful need to be embraced by those enthralled by the false dichotomy of peace

Tick tock, tick tock…tick tock the clock’s chimed three and now he can see the end in sight, from this endless, enduring sense of purgatory

Coughing, spluttering checking the shuttering pulling the quilt up round his ears looking out into the suffocating night deciding that his cranium can’t win this fight - he longs for 6am

For false dawns when the struggle will once again commence while kidding him-self one day he may be free of this life (C) Matt Humphries, Co-founder of FreeVerse Arts - 2019

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