Intense Distress

     
Cradling a bottle of frozen water, standing here in
tears, treading water going under, haven’t slept a
wink after Lord and Master of the Crocodile Castle
turned into Prima Donna doing the dying stance of
Violetta in La Traviata, declared - one hand on his
forehead, eyes staring into the abyssal deep –

“Ah, terrible problems at work, can’t tell you, can’t
tell anyone, hush-hush, confidential, high security
risk…” - overpowering feeling of doom created by
his melodramatic act, I implore him to elucidate -
he refuses knowing nothing can be as bad as his
mysterious portentous boding act suggests –

Happily he trips off to bed, his mind at rest, and
sleeps like a baby while I’m stuck in the deepest
end of the abyssal depth, only me, the BBC and
strange worms living on methane bubbling up in
under-sea volcanoes, alone, my mind spewing
forth mysterious menacing scenarios which

Manifest in horrendous headaches, I’m standing
here wearing purple storm clouds while stuck in
the Black Hole in my head sucking in all light so
nothing can terminate the intense distress of the
lightning abysmal storm derailing life