pink sludge 26.11

a tupperware box of pink sludge.

i hold it in my hands, bloody and bruised

guard it with my life even when they tell me it’s worth nothing.

that doesn’t matter.

i’ll be buried with it

six foot underground with the worms

and my little plastic box.

you pick it out of your teeth every day

it gets under your nails and stuck in your hair

it ruins your favourite fur coat.

it surrounds you and chokes you,

flowering into your insides.

the pink sludge is everywhere

some find peace in it,

settle into it with diamond rings and mortgages.

for others it’s agony.

some spend entire lifetimes looking for it.

but i have it here.

in my tupperware box

contained

controlled

tamed.

sometimes i leave it at home

or on the bus

but never in the hands of another.

i make sure of it.

you can lend it for an evening

at the cost of a dry martini

but in the morning il snatch it back.

it’s mine

it’s mine

it’s mine

my horrible pink sludge.