dear red on pale white,
a letter to you, I write
in immense red fright
I fear, red on pale white
It is because of you
I cannot sleep at night
you promised that
you would not bite
but what is left of me?
I cannot see anything
there is nothing in my sight
but a mouth, that keeps begging
the dear red on pale white
I write to you again,
dear red on pale-

'this is your last night'
said the red on pale white

-Kaya

I could feel the tension
I could feel all the blood in me
settling to the bottom, within my feet
my feet, now red, under pressure
pulling me down, I could not seem
to fight the weight that was
pulling me down, down and down

my feet now full, now red, like a bucket
full of water, ready to spill, ready to give way
my feet now ready to burst and set free
the tensed blood for once and for all

-Kaya

I guess we are all drawn to a certain  light and sometimes, that light, is darkness

-Kaya

I'm in denial of my days death
the day in your eyes,
now all I see are your whites
but no light, there's no light

- Kaya

I see a sphere
it is like one that is,
but not like one that feels
this sphere, is vulnerable
it is colorful but thin
easy to puncture and see
the things that lie within
the colorful skin
i'm afraid it will lose color
and lose what it has once been

-Kaya

from skin to flesh
and blood to bone  
from sound to silence
and wind to dust
from book to page
and sharp to blunt
from food to medication
and a house to train stations
and years to an unforgivable  
day,
I wish to someone 'a good day'

-Kaya

yellow pages, with thin lines
held stiff, within a black spine
hard to uncover, yet so divine
the pages were empty, but the
smell of them, enlightened
the dusty places, in my mind

i sunk my hollow head, into the book
visionless, there was nothing to look
i sunk my heavy head, into the book
and the smell of rain took-
me away to the land of rain
and brown drenched wood-

the place i loved could only be
visited, through this pocket book
my home will always be between
the yellow pages of your book

-Kaya