Jumping at fleas

This could be part one, or maybe it's finished...

Around mid afternoon of another day I found myself sinking and struggling for my voice again and jumping at fleas around the boundaries when the milkman came by with a bunch of flowers and surprised me.

Well the piper must be paid I suppose, so I jumped into bed with him and got a free bottle of milk.

Afterwards I went for a walk in the park.

The very next day a neighbour came and said they’d seen me as they were sitting on a bench after they couldn’t go any further.

I didn’t say very much at this, and after a while they went away again, and I went back to jumping at fleas, and forgot everything I was thinking of as I was staying alive minute by minute.

The remnants of all my prisoners I was keeping for a rainy day were beating the bars to escape with a thousand questions that wouldn’t stop, until I put my foot down and told them all to go back to sleep.

But the prisoners were bad and wouldn’t let me sleep until I’d turned fifteen forever in all my troubles.

I began really jumping at fleas then and scratched all over and looked to see if I was bleeding, and upon seeing nothing I just had to do deep breathing until the next train arrived to take me away.

It came too late of course and with not a lot of effortless time wasted it began to spread about the place as it came into the station and then got into my dreams and made me squint just like a frog-eyed rapscallion on the grape juice without a hope in hell.

Yeah, the blood is in my veins tonight and I have nothing to explain.

I forgot all about jumping at fleas and began grasping at straws for a long moment as I made up my mind to turn to another channel, and got to about half way when I knew I had to turn back.

But when I looked behind me I saw it was too far, and too dark, so I carried on, jumping at fleas and thinking: what wine was I drinking that could get me so far out? I’ll have to buy some more for sure, and carried on working behind the winter solace bar for nothing much and rubbing away at all my dreams.

I am not always here, but sometimes, I’m there; yep, that’s for sure; sometimes I’m there.

Now don’t go making me into a misanthrope here for saying this; I love you all, I really do, just don’t go getting too close, my space is all I own, and I don’t give it up easily.

Ah, those pesky fleas paid me no mind and just kept on biting.

Images from Pixabay

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