by Aster Ross

you linger in the landscape

of grey sludge in my brain

vandalise road signs

writhe through the tracks of my intestine

put out another traffic cone


redirect thoughts, this way please

the paths you take visible

as flaking skin and

salmon stripped fingertips

the road circles back on itself

i said this way, please


the more you grow 

the less i eat:

starve myself to starve your feast


but you’re behind the wheel

my body your vehicle

my blood congeals

i can’t reach the centre console


only, you’re my chauffeur

i’ve grown used to you now

the uneven road and

your cyclical route

so, i wipe the bile 

that froths at my lips

and you look back and smile


i know you’re really killing me but

let’s go another mile

you’re all that i know

something familiar, my hands squeeze tight

i loathe you, but you keep me safe –

my very own parasite

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