The stretched metaphor regurgitated fear,
It said to me ‘hello there dear,’
‘I’m your broken face, your creamy disgrace,’
Smiling it squeezed me in its embrace.

I laughed and cried as it ate my brain,
Figuratively fascinated with such disdain.

An adjective flooded into the room,
Riding high on its dusty broom.

It oozed bile, carrying a delicious smile,
‘Hey I’ve come a wholesome mile,’
‘To end your ways you saucy beast,’
‘Mmmm a wholesome metaphor feast.’

‘A sea of lies, you mouldy fool’,
‘Just wait you flippant tool’,

Then a simile wonders listlessly in,
Fat, folded face full of sin,
‘Hi I’m simile and I’m as sweet as nut,’
‘Succulent as a sausage, only the best cut.’

‘I’ll batter you like the finest newspaper cod,’
‘But don’t expect me to play word God.’

The metaphor soaked into the skin of my face,
Jealous words lusting with suspicious grace,
The adjective screamed like a bat out of hell,
Rushing to ring the squirming succulent sorbet bell.

Alliteration parachuted into the fray,
All I could do was pray, pray, pray!
It circled the others like a ninja on heat,
Swaying hypnotically to an unheard beat.

‘You’re dreams are like silver, sequined, sausage seas,’
‘Floating as a flustered forgotten falcon covered in fleas.’

I swat the damned intergalactic horror grammar,
Sweating like a pig on a stick, I stutter and stammer,
Squeezing them out of my brain, only mildly insane,
Riding across mistake after mistaken terrain.

Don’t question the salubrious smooth skin,
Soaking with ideas, like a hammer to the chin.

‘Besides if you digraph your diphthong…’
‘Then you’ll end up not knowing where to belong.’

Alliteration then ran for the door,
But the simile still wanted more,
‘Hey don’t have subjunctive superlative syllables, okay?’
‘Or passive periphrastic phrases to save the day.’

‘Shut your twisted tortured transitive trap,’
‘Or I’ll squeeze slowly, sear then snap,’
‘You miserable moronic maladjusted mishap.’

The sulking adjective fell and faded to dust,
And I realised my mind was full of word lust,
‘Oh what will I do with this nightmare, help me please!’
‘Damned falcon keeps showering my head with fleas.’

‘Flaming cricket bats rising up through the ground,’
‘Bloody sorbet everywhere, stop that ringing sound!’
‘Get out of my head grammar porn,’
‘Or the verbs die, no time to mourn.’

‘Oh the irony’, the simile cries,
No more dreams, no more ties,
‘Oh my heart is as dark as the night,’
‘Without word love, I must take flight.’

‘Alas my broken heart strings,’ metaphor cried,
‘A sea of grief, magnanimously fried,
‘Why can’t we all just get on,’ he sighed.

I awoke sweat dripping off my head,
I realised fortunately I’d just been dead,
Murdered grammar spread around my bed,
And my haunted fragile mind full of writing lead.