Before then

with them

the things they’d bring home

snacks

were alive

wriggling gummy worms

salted in sweets

and corn with firery stripes

When there was

no bringer of treats

but a whole store

stacks of worms

they were all dead

I can close my eyes

and transform back

to before

I’m so close i can smell it

when you act as my Stargate

But instead

the shift

transforms when I sleep

wind so strong

it’s blowing horns in my window

and I open the door

and the wind is so fierce

Earth roaring

as it spins out of control

and I know it’s the same as a funeral

They’re not going to wake up

and the spinning isn’t going to stop

it’s going to whirl

until I’m wrapped in plastic too.