Bad Thoughts

They trickle in
underneath the floor boards

Like a plague sent by Moses

These aren’t the crippling ones

they’re the ones
that make you crave
spoiled milk

When you least expect it
they make you question
if spoiled milk is really spoiled

The dew on the leaves drip
drip drip
lifting you beneath the leaves
And you float Atop the flooding stream
Floating drifting into something serene

Then it finds you there

It’s there again

Knives on necks and
Ares thrashing your
insides like an erupting
orgasm

No, this

is irrational
Think. montra.
Montra Montra

“I am a beautiful universe”

“I am light and love”

Love down a scented lane
of rosebuds and the voice of a violin
in the distance. A cool breeze soothes
my damp skin. There she is dancing
to the rhythm I wish would hold me closer
to its bosom.

There’s my girl becoming one
with the ocean. This motion is an escape from
the plagues that live beneath the floor boards

-Saschia Johnson