Corner of My Eye

Something’s wrong with my vision. I don’t think glasses will help. Do you see the little ones, creeping and crawling over edges and corners? Sliding down the slopes and nesting in the curves?

Do you see them, writhing over one another, silent song and laughter moving them as I try to pin them down with focus?

They’re squirmy things.

They move like serpents and insects, slithering and crawling; I feel them nestle down into the keyboard as I type, soft bodies crushed as fingers taptaptap. The juice of them runs down, warm on my thighs, dripping down my calves to puddle in the foot of my shoe.


If it’s a bad day, I can catch them without turning my head too far or too fast. There’s a cracklecrunch as a few are crushed by opening doors or feet that walk too heavily, too unnoticing, here in the dark.

The glow of the monitor bathes us, while they sing.

I can see them.

But the hell of it is… now they can see me.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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