Halloween Virus

My Halloween’s gone viral–
my poor psyche’s caught under
a malevolent cloud
leaking ghastly drizzle,
an ancient mummy’s curse
unravels in my throat
while uninvited bugs are gathering
in the kitchen of my sinuses
knocking back root beers
and taking drunken selfies in there.

Jolly orange pumpkins
in any shape or form can’t
cheer me up and I don’t find the
novelty witch’s nose from Waitrose funny–
as I have one of those already.
Perhaps I need to concoct an
instant Macbeth mix
of heart-warming homemade stew
and I will shed a long wiry hair or two
which will turn up
in my husband’s portion.

Mr Kipling’s Terror Whirls
turn to ashes in my mouth,
while my taste buds have wandered off
down the primrose path.
My mucus has it’s own
channel on You Tube now,
but I won’t bother to watch–
my zombie brain is too fogged
muddling the domains of Frankenstein
and Transylvania–
I really just want to curl up inside
a wobbly lime green monster jelly
as my forehead pounds
to an infectious beat
and the Halloween virus parties on.

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Halloween Virus

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