The octopus makes itself
Comfortable in
My chest.
He stretches two tentacles
Down, to wind round
My bowels.
He wraps four around
My heart,
To crush its squirming attempts to escape.
He sends the last two up
My oesophagus,
So they can curl out of
My mouth,
And coil around
My throat.
He has to allow me a thin stream of air though,
As he realises a little too late
That he can't throttle
Himself.
2 May 2008
I seem to be writing some pretty gruesome stuff at the moment! This was inspired by my feelings of panic the previous week, (not entirely dissipated...). I originally had a totally negative ending, but realised, when thinking the metaphor through, that there was a technical problem with him strangling his own tentacles; and anyway, the situation isn't totally hopeless, so this is a truer reflection of how I feel. I am not sure if you can use the word "throttle" in this context (where is an octopus' "throat" anyway, and can you strangle anything that doesn't actually breathe air?) Maybe it's just a rubbish image... I am also concerned about the line breaks: shld I be emphasising the body parts so much, by splitting the line before them each time? And shld I repeat "round/around" so much? As you can tell, I'm not very secure about this one!
