Nightmare Poetry

Peas Porridge hot, Peas Porridge cold.

It oozed out of the pot nine days ago.

Spreading across the cold stove top

Before dripping onto the tile floor.

Now my sleeping dog is no more.

No longer peas porridge steaming hot

As it slips beneath the kitchen door

Oozing down the long corridor

It's now coming for me, as I sleep.

My snoring must sound so delicious.

Peas Porridge cold waiting in the dark

For me to step on to my cold floor.

It does not sleep, it does not eat.

Instead, it waits for my toes and heels

To sink into it's cold Peas Porridge.

Soon in the early morning hours

Beneath my bed it waits for me.

I stepped into this dog body gel stew.

It dissolved and digested all of me too,

Leaving none of me behind to chew.

Now half-full and wanting some more,

It slips out beneath my front door.

To the outside world, down my steps,

Peas Porridge cold alone on the sidewalk,

Oozing along seeking a meat meal, of you.