Muse hasn’t left my bedside for days:
         she races around
         the garden when I sleep:
                            it’s the only time she leaves,
                            she’s so loyal.
A few days ago, I heard Muse barking
         in the garden;
         I knew she’d seen the woodpecker again.
                       I’ve learnt the differences in her voice:
this is what comes of weeks bedbound.
But when the sedatives wear off
         I can do more than lie there:
                       I can feel the touch from my grandma,
                       I can smell last night’s family supper,
                                    I’m lucid.
Yesterday, the electroconvulsive therapy shocked my brain
                       today, my muscles feel as knotted
                                    as my oesophagus.
I’m on my back now; my only company
         is the ceiling; not even
                        the canopy of stars I once gazed at with joy.
                                      
© Sia Jane

how long must i
drag my bones
across these
lukewarm
monotonous
coals,
i wondered
as i loaded
the dryer
with white
clothes

He said I'm his muse
God knows he's mine
I drown in his words
His music, consumes my time
He said,"Cmere"
My only wish
For him, to be near
To feel his kiss
I think he's, well, all
Golden hair, music,
And ahhh, I fall
If I land on concrete,
Then, So be it
The fall,
Well, Was scenic....

Exhibited
for public view
put
on display so you
can look

**** me is that what it's come too?
my face on a postcard to send back home
with a,
wish you were here.

Oh dear
It was foretold In the stars that
I'd end up behind bars
caged
and the prophecy came true.

Ozymandias with his heart
made of stone
was prone to depression
I'm perfecting the hang-dog look.

Taurus rides through me
and in Cancer a
blue me,
like the Aegean
but not what
I see.

In each doorway a yesterday
a place I could hideaway
and today's just another
way to say my goodbyes.

They still watch me through plate glass
and pass remarks on my status
and some of them hate me for
being so still

but my eyes search the heavens for signs of Jehovah
I wait
and patiently so
for the day when this is all over
when the seasons
all roll into one.

The skin whispers and summons her hither,
To where secret stories lie hidden in depths
That she had not yet discovered,
The sigh of the flesh, the magnetism
Of touch, the electricity of lust beckon,
Her steps momentarily waver,
Yet she retraces them just in time,
Managing to overhear the conversation
Her heart was having with his,
There were sounds of throaty laughter,
Friendly nudges and incessant debates,
There was a fragrance of coffee in the air,
A nip of flirtation had begun to dance with care,
And there were cushions scattered on the floor.
She sat on the pink one,
And he sat at the other side,
Both immersed in that conference,
Knowing they would let their hearts
Talk each other out,
Before the skins began to talk out loud.