It is like tasting paper

Except worse

It is trying to drink air for the lack of water

But it is worse

It is the deadly, delicate, overwhelming feeling of being smothered in something i cannot see cannot feel cannot taste or touch or hear but it is there and it brings pain and a strange kind of emptiness

pipes, made of pipes we are (i am)
trapped inside flesh and
hung over, draped upon, wrapped around brittle
rickety crickety cracking bones like
empty teeth or
the bendy bit of bendy straws trying to pretend like they
               don't bend

Finding it within myself to exist as i am
Is not something that i am entirely sure i can do
This time around

(It is not my fault,
not mine,
never mine,

I know this.
They keep saying it.
Perhaps they're trying to convince themselves,
I must be such an inconvenience, after all.)

I am pain all over, clenched teeth and tensed limbs
and I am listless
Tumbling hollow head over weak heels in an ocean of


And by gods I hope that I wash up on shore with something in
my brain besides water because I hope that at
the end of this there might be those
words those three sweet
words that might just
say something

To Be Continued.

[I do not have a terminal illness; this is character writing in poetry. I just feel I should clarify this as it is not my intention to mislead anyone.]
Kit Scott Oct 7
the cold sea
red as earth ochre
stretched from my feet to the distant sun

the heat of that invisible, bright sun
did nought to warm it
but burnt bare my back as i walked the frozen reaches

overhead the bruised sky watched
grey-purple light staining my skin
and i found in time the disappearance of all

(and i fell, smiling, as i went with it)
a kind of loneliness
Kit Scott Sep 30
Liquid silk drips from my fingers
My thirty eager fingers
Playing thirty eager chords
on my white and sprawling harp

Plucking at the strings
Like threads fine
silver and white
they shine
(it is night)

It is night and the world is dark
but for glimmering on my harp a single light
lamp like spotlight, hot overhead
i stretch my toes where they balance me on the ropes

sitting by cold glass
i watch the word go by
with my eight beady eyes
and wait for that promising fly
(it is night)

It is night and the word is still
but for my fingers plucking at the strings
of a heart-harp-home, contrast to my dark-clothed figure
silhouetted in the windowsill where i have a woven a tiny, quiet song
do you see me? ive been there for a while
Kit Scott Sep 18
Touch my face
with those hands of yours
run them over my cheeks
and around my nose

Wrap my body
in your arms
and let me enfold mine
around yours

I want to feel your skin
as we lie together
in the still light of day
or the whirling half-light that comes with the moon

In summer we can rest
under the simmering brightness
that paints itself
across our room

In winter we can huddle together
wrapped around one another
sharing heat
tangled in each others hearts

I want you to be there
to hold you
I want to be there for you
to be held

So please
let that smile stretch your lips
your happiness is contagious

let your laughter spill out
into my ear
it sounds like the smell of light on water

fresh and clear
and beautiful
glimmering under the trees

So please
When we settle down for the night
under the same covers
give me your hand and rest your head next to mine

and we can lie intertwined
sharing our heart-laden breaths
because physical closeness is not necessary for all, but is everything to some (love may not fade with distance, but being together is bliss)
Kit Scott Sep 15
It used to be sharp
It used to burn me up
Used to push crimson embers through my throat
and wait for me to choke

But now it is heavy
But now it is dull
Now it is monotony sent to weigh on me
till I'm crushed

I thought I got better
and maybe I did
But it came back with a vengeance
to scream at me until I give in

I wonder if maybe
it'd be easier to deal with
if i went back to old habits
and scarred up my arms

I wonder if tracing
over old lines might help
It's a plea for attention
I won't pretend it's anything else

Because I never quite recovered
It never really stopped
Because I was ten and sad and ****** then
And now I am four years older and lost

(It used to be something like pinpricks, piercing my skin, now it is an ocean wave, dragging me in)
Dragging me under with it's pull.
Kit Scott Sep 14
if you go out over the moor
and around the back of the hill
there's a church standing behind it
silent and still

the church is home to no creature
no bat or bird
makes its nest there
no sound to be heard

but despite the eerie silence
the ceiling that goes up and up and up
it's a restful place
with glass faces watching from above

i like to sit there on the skeleton pews
alone and unafraid
lady mary watches me
sings me lullabies shes made

and i hum them back to her
even when she leaves
sometimes i watch her baby
as i sweep out the in blown leaves

saint peter tells me stories
from his place upon the wall
and sometimes he weaves intricate tales
together with saint paul

once i thought i saw a priest here
and he patted me on the head
told me i was a good child
to be caring for the long dead

the graveyard out the back
is often in disrepair
so sometimes i bring flowers
to those who lie there

and sometimes i like to lean
against this one mossed over gravestone
so that i can whisper to the ghosts
and listen to them complaining that their church is overgrown

and often i like to sit at the entrance
it makes me feel oddly bereft
i feel like sitting here forever
its been a while since i left
"they say some kid collapsed just outside those ruins a few days ago, yknow the ones out on the moor? they think the mite was tryin to take shelter, poor kid never made it"
Kit Scott Sep 14
Give me a storm

I want it

Give me a storm, I want it for myself
I want to hide it in my heart and let it push through my veins
I want a storm to rage through me, tear away all my doubt

Give me a storm, and help me keep it in my chest
catch it in my ribs and crush it against my lungs
until i cough blood and breathe lightning

give me a storm

give it to me

i want it to wash through me with its whirling tumbling rain
and fry all my nervendings
so i can feel again

give me a storm
help me hold it inside myself
until it bursts free free free

and i can run away with it

give me a storm

and ill love you

give me a storm

and ill never bother you again

(i want to choke on the taste of ozone in my mouth,
it feels, by far, the best way to go out)
i know im greedy, but it doesnt hurt you much (you just have to help me catch it in my hands)
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