Deep within their mind
everyone will find
some magic turning chemicals
into cogs that turn and wind
but by this abstraction that makes us think alike,
what do thoughts and memories look like?

Are they crystal spheres
encasing what is dear,
are they rapid clouds that take
the shape of peace and fear,
are they pets that act and do the smiles and frowns you like?
What do thoughts and memories look like?

Do you mind a red
cat purring by your bed,
its fur soft as the lips that gave
you the best kiss you’ve had,
a ball with radiant colours to play with as you like,
are these the thoughts and memories we like?

But if there comes a day,
or better still, a night,
when suddenly your thoughts
start feeling not quite right,
the cloud once up above
becomes a darker grey
and, as you’re driving, lands
on your windscreen, in the way,
the ball gets cold and bloody, and covered all in spikes
and prods you, hurts you so bad you can’t work or sleep at night,
the feline turned a starving beast will wait beside your bed,
and as you lift your eyelids it’ll jump and bite your head,
with drooling fangs it drags you to an insect-covered floor
the bugs will crawl and sting you as you fail to reach the door,
they get inside your mouth and your throat and choke your screams,
until you, overpowered, can’t tell the truth from dreams,
you’re still the same you were before, but there, consumed, you lie,
the one thought left to play with
is the one in which you die.