Boneless sponge.

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t, what does the wordless boy have?Bad knees, a couple of failed degrees and a recurring dream of trembling infant galaxies. I long to return to that warm wet land of never where I did float and a belly did bloat as I was sewn, stitched and botched together. For the soup I now wade through is too thick, there’s barely enough room so the verdict sticks: it is too bright outside the womb. And this wordless boy, he is no longer mute, he is no longer silent, in fact the words he chews up and spits out are often violent his allergic reaction to a life that is a tyrant, there should have been a warning sign put out on first entry:Welcome to the zoo. Do not expect mercy. Do not feed the animals here. Do not pass go. The beasts feed on all your fear in thi

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s walk-in peep-show.So give me a spade and I’ll dig my own hole, these monkey-hands I’ll trade for the paws of a mole, and I will tunnel straight back up into that cunt for in this life I am a fucking runt and all these things I’ve done and all of my sins trail behind me like disembowelled intestines, and in my bed my ears often blister for in my head a voice often whispers a promise, which rumbles in this air like thunder something’s coming to tear me asunder something’s coming to tear me asunder something’s coming© Josh Lonsdale, 2020I’m a fresh neophyte here on Medium, making the best of a disturbed mind. If you’ve liked this, or I’ve tickled your curiosity, please check out my other poetry and works.Thanks for reading.</article></body>

Boneless sponge.

Boneless Sponge, image by author.

I started this life as a boneless sponge, little more than the expelled gunge from my hit ’n’ run dad’s scrotal sack. I miss those bloodied days looking back, for it was dark inside the womb, yet I drew some comfort from that, suckling in that cave: a holed-up bat, I was a black hole within a black hole, primed to download, built to implode, a compost sack of gelatinous bones an astronaut drifting into space another problem for the human race a wordless boy with a big blank face waiting to absorb my first taste of the soup, outside.

And now he is out, what does the wordless boy have?

Bad knees, a couple of failed degrees and a recurring dream of trembling infant galaxies. I long to return to that warm wet land of never where I did float and a belly did bloat as I was sewn, stitched and botched together. For the soup I now wade through is too thick, there’s barely enough room so the verdict sticks: it is too bright outside the womb. And this wordless boy, he is no longer mute, he is no longer silent, in fact the words he chews up and spits out are often violent his allergic reaction to a life that is a tyrant, there should have been a warning sign put out on first entry:

Welcome to the zoo. Do not expect mercy. Do not feed the animals here. Do not pass go. The beasts feed on all your fear in this walk-in peep-show.

So give me a spade and I’ll dig my own hole, these monkey-hands I’ll trade for the paws of a mole, and I will tunnel straight back up into that cunt for in this life I am a fucking runt and all these things I’ve done and all of my sins trail behind me like disembowelled intestines, and in my bed my ears often blister for in my head a voice often whispers a promise, which rumbles in this air like thunder something’s coming to tear me asunder something’s coming to tear me asunder something’s coming

I’m a fresh neophyte here on Medium, making the best of a disturbed mind. If you’ve liked this, or I’ve tickled your curiosity, please check out my other poetry and works.

Thanks for reading.