When you’ve got an idea and it grows.
The realisation hits you like a fist.
And it grows.
Not like a tree or a
flower,
not like the roses in gran’s
flowerbed.

Like mould,
spreading
like cancer,
dancer,
through your system,
stopping,
taking a
breather
in the heart,
in the lungs and
in the head.
Stopping,
growing.

Infecting.