The rope is long,
I tie a knot.
I wrap it round,
I'm getting fraught.
My feet unstable,
A dizzy head.
Don’t like it here,
I pull a thread.
A lonesome strand,
Is now all tangled.
I pull the rest,
The rope gets frazzled.
I look around,
No one is near.
I get off,
I leave the pier.
A quick glance back,
The waters foam.
The boat is drifting,
I'm going home.

Around the wall,
Around the well,
Around the dangling rope.
I'm pacing,
Try tracing,
My misplacing hope.

I'm not a pair,
I'm odd.
The ark has sailed
Without me on board.

A line hanging,
High.
Between before and later,
And I am now,
Suspended,
In between.
A pendulum pulsating in the wind.
Between before and later,
Paused,
Hoping for a cause.

I see them come,
I watch them go,
Not stopping here,
Not looking,
Not thinking,
For a moment,
To stay.
So still,
I'm talking to myself.
One more day,
One more day,
One more day.

Ripples of scentless odour,
Diffused with every beat of my heart.
Through my skin.
Pulsing out in faint circled puffs.
A fog enveloping me,
Stretching thin, long fingers,
Tapping on the shoulders,
And stealing up the noses,
Of all those,
I might want.

A little black square,
Jumping out of
The blank and white page.
Bleeding ink,
Oozing traces
Of what's beneath.
A little black square,
Jumping on,
The blank and white stage.
Spewing pink,
Glop.
Seeping slop.
Spitting out words,
In chaos,
Disorder.
And then it's gone.
The paper has soaked it all.
Back in,
Again under,
Beneath the surface.
Of my world.

I see me,
Walking,
Down the street,
Looking utterly, foolishly, obtusely, insanely, ridiculously,
Happy.
I'm eight.
After that,
I broke my pate,
I gained my freight,
I found my hate.

Dawn is outside my window,
Behind my walls.
And I am here, inside,
Restless,
Sleepless,
Dreading dawn.

God is calling me.
Whispering in my ear.
My darling, my dear.
Come to me.
I want you here.
God is calling me.
He wants me near,
But I can't hear him,
I can't hear.

Obsessed, obsesssseeeddd, bsessed, obse,
Ssed, sessed, sobessed, bosessed.
My mind is a circuit,
It's skittish and wound.
I'm diving downwards,
Hitting the ground.
I'm soaring high,
Touching the sun.
One thought, one thought, one thought,
one!
My mind is swelling from one thought.
All else is gone.
Thought is forming into a clot,
Paralyzing, can't move on.
Can't go back,
Can't stop one thought.
Obsessed, all that's left is a shot
To the head,
Remove the clot,
My head as well,
As a result.
Never mind,
Not much inside,
Only one thought,
One thought,
One thought,
Rewinds.

Up, up rising,
Hindering my air.
Flooding my eyes,
Extinguishing my flare.
Sailine beads, dripping out,
Brimful of pain,
Of anger and hate,
Resentment, regret and disdain.
I thought that I was over her,
I was wrong.

My head is spinning round and round.
I lost my rubber, rubber band.
It's white.
It's small.
Was here right
Now! It's gone,
And with it my phone
Is not tied neatly,
And with it my mind,
Is not together completely.
However will I keep my sanity at hand,
Without my rubber, rubber band!

Dusty, rusty limbs.
Creaking, whizzing seams.
Mucky, murky mind.
And I'm inside.
Trapped,
Wrapped,
Strapped.
No way in.
No way out.
Whizzing and creaking in my ears.
Dust and rust in my lungs.
Muck and murk in my blood.
And I am inside,
Confined,
Incarcerated,
compassed.
Nowhere to go,
No one to come.
Detached.
Marking the days on the walls,
Line after line after line.
Counting my thought,
Concluding my dreams,
My marbles displacing,
One by one by one.
Misplacing my sanities,
Losing my mind.

I am the clock.
Spinning,
Wrapped around an axle.
Hands twisted over my head,
Bent sideways,
Minutes,
Hours.
No seconds.
No time for seconds.
Hours pass in minutes.
Minutes pass in seconds.
No time for seconds.
I am the clock.
Days pass in a whirl.
Hazy, dazy, blured.
Sunrise as sunset, as sunrise,
No dawn.
No morning, no noon, no dusk.
Just sleep, stagnation and dust.
On the eyelids,
Skin,
Mouth.
Into the lungs.
Stifling my breathing,
Contaminating my blood.
Dust.
A thin layer,
Inside,
Outside,
Around,
All around.

Peas,
In a pod,
Three maybe four,
Together,
Never alone.

To be Kate,
To seem normal, happy, unbothered.
To be Kate,
Unweighed, hinged, togathered.
To be Kate,
To sound quiet, blessed, sound.
To be Kate,
For just one round.
Around the wall,
Around the lawn,
Around the guard.
Than where it's scattered,
Unhinged,
Where it's barred.
To be Kate is really, really hard.

Indifferent,
In different,
Eyes,
I looked.
Inwards,
In words,
And lies,
I rooked.
Insults,
In salted,
Pies,
I cooked.

No eat,
No wholesome,
No quench,
No sip.
No night,
No day,
No stir,
No sleep.
No green,
No rainbow,
No flower,
No trees.
No sweet,
No lovely,
No warm,
No breeze.
No home,
No rest,
No place,
No port.
No shield,
No cover,
No guard,
No fort.
No soft,
No ease.
No air,
No space.
No kids,
No line,
No kind,
No race.

A thousand flavours on my tongue.
Bitter, sweet, bland and tang.
One million degrees of hot.
One persistent taste of fraught.
The sharp sting of pain and blame.
The aftertaste of guilt and shame.
The taste of blood,
The taste of death.
Of annihilation,
Of one last breath.
A taste of anguish, of despair.
A taste of horror, smothered air.
A flavoured terror, a maddened stare,
Underneath a ruthless snare.

Fruitless

Memory made of a thousand pieces,
Making faces,
Making places.
Shattering and gathering,
Gathering and Shattering.
Scattering, spattering, muttering
To ourselves.
A memory,
A face,
A place.
A pace, a pace, a pace.
Away from the dead,
Away from the grave,
The cave, the wave
Of pain, of outrage, of rave.
My memory I lost,
Leaving a stain,
From bodies slain,
Insane.
Gathering pieces,
In vain.

A snowball inside, with no snow,
Just layers of guilt and nausea below.
Layers, wrapped, one on top of the rest.
Layers of nausea and guilt, stressed, pressed, wrest.
And the ball is rolling around inside,
Picking up more nausea and guilt on its ride.
Getting bigger, getting fat.
Blocking my airways, leaving me flat,
On my back with nothing but dry, hollowed cry.
Salt burning my flared eyes.
I'm sitting inside,
The snowlessball, heavy, wide.
I can't see past it, I can't see behind.
I'm looking straight, directly at it and try, I try, I try to cry.
To drown it, diffuse it, dissipate.
It doesn't. It sits there, full of hate.
Hate and nausea and guilt,
Layered, patched like a quilt,
Waiting for ME to quit.
Me and the ball, in the middle of things,
Between us a chess board with no kings.
Only queens, inside my skin,
And all queens can fall, and all queens can win.
I have the black ones and he has my sins.
Spread on the board my sins and my queens,
Between me and my guilt on a mid summer's nightmare.

In the street I am,
Walking, walking,
Looking, looking,
Around.

Picking up sounds.
Rush, sooty, loud.
Forming a cloud,
Vibrating the ground.

And when time no longer meets,
Then the roar of the streets,
Drowns all kinds of beats.

I’m plunging into the depths of my soul,
To find something made out of coal,
So my candle's flame would finally ignite,
And the streets' lamps could find the light.

In the street,
I am, looking, looking,
Walking, walking,
Around.

I know, know, what that means, I know.
I'm watching every flash of ambiguity grow.
I'm hearing whispers of happiness go.

The light is dim,
The shadows dark,
The faces blurred,
The voices bark.

I'm watching, watching,
People in the street, passing,
By me, with familiar faces, walking, walking.

I'm meeting with the pleasure of injustice on their face,
And bits of pleasure are lost with every pace.
I see thoughts of all types,
Fears, angers, hopes and doubts.

The light gets brighter,
The shadows grow long.
I want to know,
I want to know,
Where does the pleasure go?
Where the thoughts I see around are born?
And what, what, what have they borne?

Their hearts crippled and lame,
Spewing hatred and blame,
You will surely be ashamed,
Of what became of them.

I wonder if ever they were stronger for love,
But all that’s remained now, is one wounded dove.
On the side of the freeway, covered in soot,
Many have come and gone, not one of them put
The dove in a shelter, a harbour, a port.

I’m daydreaming,
I'm wondering,
Mumbling a prayer,
From the blackness of their despair
I can see their strength is bare.

I find it sourly funny,
But bitterly sad.
The faces are dark and barking and mad.
Wearing a sorrow and weariness clad.

Harmony? Maybe, a certain kind,
But it is teeming with wildlife on every side.

Air in a box for that day,
To gale,
To inhale,
To breathe.
Time in a box for that day,
To use,
To muse,
To need.
Calm in a box for that day,
To flow,
To know,
To touch.
Love in a box for that day,
To trace,
To taste,
To match.
One empty box for that day,
For the wilt,
The guilt,
The blame.
One empty box for that day,
For the pains
The chains,
The shame.

I'm up,
Just in case.
I do,
Just in case.
I grind,
Just in case.
I collect,
Just in case.
One day,
Two days,
Three,
Just in case.
I store,
Just in case.
Four days,
Five days,
Six,
Just in case.
In case I'm guiltless.
In case I'm chaste.
I'm collecting mine days,
Just in case.

Dream,
Where thoughts are loud,
And cries are silent.
Reality is warped and delusion real.
Where truth is false and lie is honest.
Where I keep all I ever promised,
To me.

Ants are crawling on my inside skin.
Irritating,
Tiny,
Puny,
Steps.
Crawling, crawling,
Step,
Step,
Step.
Minute, echoing.
Resounding all the way across,
To the outside of my skin.
Making me squirm and fidget and flip.
Ants are marching on my internal membrane,
And I can't sleep.

Dry, cracked, fractured.
Broken, barren, fissured.
Raptured, sliced, split.
Rifted, carved, slit.
Cut, torn, weathered.
Slashed, hacked, severed.
Chopped, gashed, ripped.
Gouged, lanced, clipped.

In a deep deep well,
Where I dwell, dwell, dwell,
I can smell, smell, smell,
All the stale, stale, stale,
Souls.
And I hear, hear, hear,
Bells are near, near, near,
And it's clear, clear, clear,
Death is here, here, here,
In the walls.
Then I know, know, know,
Fear will grow, grow, grow,
Hearts will slow, slow, slow,
Life will flow, flow, flow,
Down the halls.
And at last, last, last,
Low the mast, mast, mast,
Trumpet blast, blast, blast,
Life has past, past, past,
To the falls.

Seeds of sadness,
Planted,
In my ground.
Buds of sorrow,
Sprouted,
In the sand.
Shoots of dysphoria,
Covering,
The land.
Trees of depression,
Growing,
Where I stand.
In the middle of the land,
Sinking in the sand,
Disappearing in the ground.
Bare trees,
Are left,
Unsound.

I'm repeating myself.
I'm redundant.
I'm duplicated.
Duplicated,
Duplicated,
Abundant.
I echo, echo my words.
I wander, wander the wards,
With the white walls
And the white coats,
With the sterile air,
And the silent wants.
Bars in my mind,
I'm confined,
Resigned,
Re-assigned,
Re-defined,
Re-designed.
I'm repeating myself,
Repeating,
Peating,
Eating.
I'm redundant,
Abundant,
Pungent.

Morning,
Almost,
A night's shadow is still here.
Refusing to leave,
Holding on,
Clinging to air.
And the morning can not start,
Eyes are still shut.
Until the shadow lets go,
Morning will not show,
Us, today,
Nor one ray,
Of sun will we know.

In the corner of the room,
On the middle of the table,
In the depth of the dish,
On the edge of the spoon.
I am looking at it.
Nausea.
I am staring,
Into the pit.

In,
And out of,
Myself.
I go,
In and out.
Pouring out and
Crawling in.
Spilling out and
Climbing in.
Spewing out and
Trampling in.
My knees are bruised,
My shoulders slumped,
My head is dizzy,
My thoughts are stumped.
My body is a sieve.
In and out.
In and out.
In and out.
I skive,
One slice,
A layer,
A layer.
Spreading a carpet of myself, flat.
Now all over, I'm the same height,
Much easier to go in and out.

It's not real.
I am not there.
No one is.
It's just air.
It's not true.
I'm not me.
I'm a figment.
There's no she.
There's no us.
No them.
No later.
No then.
No times.
No places.
No lives.
No faces.
Just wasted,
Wasted,
Wasted.

Picture one,
Smile.
Picture two,
Dimple.
Picture three,
Twinkle.
Picture four,
Shy.
Picture five,
Coy.
Picture six,
Flirty.
Picture ten,
Words.
Fifteen,
Walking.
Twenty one,
Lips.
Thirty three,
Hand.
Picture forty,
Nearly.
Forty two,
Ah.

Stuck,
On a pivot,
Round and round,
Turning,
Turning,
Bound.
Winding,
Winding,
A strand,
Of fibery, coarse, fabric,
Around,
Shoulders,
Chest,
Hands,
Knees,
Feet,
Bound.
Boun­d.

Lights,
In the street,
A long, long row.
Arching and curving,
To the end of the road.
Lights,
In the street,
A cortege.
Little bright specks,
Stretching far,
Far,
Far.
Away they stretch,
Behind the bend,
Bequeathing a glow,
A luminous thread.

Lines,
Green, blue, red, white.
Keeping in,
Leaving out.
Confining and taut,
Rigid and wrought.
Keeping me in,
Leaving me out,
On the border,
Over the edge,
Hanging,
Alongside doubt.
Flapping in the breeze,
Dangling in the air,
Oxidising,
Splitting hair.
Over the edge,
Over the bluff,
Harsh, coarse, rough.
Barren and crumbly,
Numbly,
Numbly,
Numbly.

Lines, in between,
Dividing.
Separating,
Necessity from obsession,
Air from depression,
Bother from pain,
Madness from sane.
Sadness from sorrow,
Today from tomorrow.

Gray, dark asphalt,
Leading somewhere else,
Away.
From here, this place,
Leaving me,
Astray.
Darker, grayer, asphalt,
Under my feet,
Dumb.
I'm standing in shadow,
Hearing the bit of no,
Drum.

Cracked, parched, bare,
I am lying on the ground.
My skin,
Cracked, parched, bare,
Crumbling, skinny dust,
Depressing the air.
My blood trickling out,
Hydrating the flakes.
Red tulips will grow,
Between my dusty bones.

A stone dropped,
Into the well,
Into the well,
Well,
Well.
Tapping the walls,
On its way.
Way,
Way,
Way.
The echo coiled to the top,
Chasing the stone, soon I drop.
No echo now,
A flop,
A plop,
Then stop.

When I don't,
Unless I'm wrong,
If I want,
I want for long.
Then I might,
For endless bliss,
Though I'm right,
I sometimes miss.
I miss,
I miss,
A kiss.

In my head,

Two pixies,

With tiny hammers,

Thrashing, smashing, crushing,

Stones.

Behind my eyes.

Mauling, bruising, punishing,

Bones.

Honing, forging a new wry,

Spoor.

A new ****,

To drip my thoughts,

To flood my mind,

To gouge a moor.

Talking to the wall,
No answer.
Speaking to the floor,
Dumb.
Imploring to the ceiling,
Quiet.
Talking to myself,
Again.

Runny days,

Fluid minutes,

Molten time.

Down my fingers,

Through my toes,

Into the ground.

Time I don't have.
I have.
Time I don't want.
I want.
Time I don't miss.
I miss.
Time I don't care.
I care.
Time I don't lose.
I lose.
Time I don't use.
I don't use.
Don't use.

Every day of my life is passing by.
Every day, short of one pulse,
One pulse, holding all the hearts,  
Away from me,
Turning me sole.
Every day of my life is passing by.
Every day, short of one thought,
One thought, holding all the minds,  
Away from me,
Turning me dumb.
Every day of my life is passing by.
Every day, short of one follicle,
One follicle, holding all the buds,
Away from me,
Turning me bare.
Every day of my life is passing by.
Every day, short of one prospect,
One prospect, holding all the rest.  
Every day of my life is passing by.

I have a rime.
Under my skin.
I have a rhyme
I feel it in
side my follicles.
I feel the icicles.