Tacky,
Pressed,
Stressed down.
Clinging on,
Grain to grain,
Flat.
On a thin skin,
A shellish, crumbly wrap.

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.

Cling, cling, cling.
Flop, flop, flop.
Ding, ding, ding.
Drop, drop, drop.
The screen blinks,
My brain drivels.
The colours *****,
My cells shrivel.
Cling, cling, cling.
Drop, drop, drop.
Why can't I stop, stop, stop.

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.

A rotting, wasted putrid mass,
Underneath the pastured grass.
Steaming stench of oozing bile,
Wrapped in unbelievable smile.

One on the shelf,
Above the bed.
On the mantle,
Near the bread
Box, in the corner,
Of the kitchen top.
In the bathroom,
Next to the soap.
One more is my bookmark.
Another with the spoons.
Surrounded by my imperfections,
Mornings, nights, and noons.

It's been a year, year, year,
That I am here, here, here.
I'm sinking deep,
Into my sleep.
I want to leave,
So I can live, live, live.
But I can't go,
When I'm so low, low, low.
I need to prove,
That I can move.
I wish knew,
What I should do.
Do, do, do.

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

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

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

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.

Trapped,
Inside.
A wall of glass around.
And the world is blind.
I watch it move,
Go on without me,
Living me behind,
Inside my wall of glass,
To find my own way out.

Inside out,

Soft and pink,

Raw and clawed.

Inside out,

Skinned and scratched,

Scarred and flawed.

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.

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.

The darkness flowed through the cracks in the floor, enclosing one tile at the time. Filling the room with a shadowy grip. Long, grim, fleshless fingers climbed up, into my throat. Clutching my air, leaving dark osseous char marks.

Runny days,

Fluid minutes,

Molten time.

Down my fingers,

Through my toes,

Into the ground.

I’m counting my tears,
Two, three, four.
Mini acrid reservoirs,
A hundred and two, three, four.
Crystallising on my skin,
A thousand and two, three, four.
And I’m a pillar of condemned,
A million of two, three, four.

I had a word, word, word
That once I heard, heard, heard.
The word was nice, nice, nice,
I've used it twice, twice, twice.
But then it broke,
Went up in smoke.
And I was left,
With just a cleft.
The word's now gone,
And I'm alone,
Alone, lone, lone.

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.

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.

White pudding curving over the edge.
Soft and wobbly, flabby, flaccid.
Nearly, soonly, dripping, drooping, spilling out.
Trickling down the thigh, onto the floor, into the grooves, saturating fat.
So, a blank screen,
An empty puddle,
A knife.
Just to check the teeth, the hair, the eyes.

Talk to me.
No thanks.
Just give me some words.
I’ll send you a text.
I need to hear.
I don’t see why.
So we can move on.
Then just text goodbye.
You don’t understand.
No, I really don’t.
Things can be explained.
Well maybe that’s what I don’t want.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,
Catch the monster by the toe
It will holler,
Don’t let go!
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.

Eeny, meeny, miny, mite,
It will squirm and scream and fight.
It will pull your hairs and bite.
Just hold on, use all your might,
With all you’ve got, keep holding tight.
Eeny, meeny, miny, mite.

Eeny, meeny, miny, my,
When it stops to rage and cry,
Look the monster in the eye,
And ask it, why?
Just ask it, why?

Me, myself and I, are playing a game.
Me then, me now and me mental,
Are crumbling the shame,
Casting the blame,
Away from me,
Me then, me now and me later.

The humdrumness of happily ever after,
Dull, like grains of sand.
Like waves, ever perpetual,
Ever repeated,
Ever reprinted.

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

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.

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

My steps are echoed by no one's.
My loneliness synced with the moon's.

When memory is wrong.
When morality is dusty.
When time is long.
When hope is rusty.
When dignity is pliable.
When dreams are after dark.
When faith is liable.
When life is full of marc.
Old.

I didn't say yes,

One in my head said: “No!”.

I wanted to stay,

One in my head said: “Go!”.

One in my head never rests,

Keeping my slumber at bay.

Crowding my days with weariness,

Incessantly buzzing away.

My life passes by, day after day,

One in my head is merry and gay.

My life passes by, night after night,

One in my head is full of delight.

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.

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.

Early morning,
Late night.
Morning,
Late, late night.
Noonish,
Early, early morning.
Evening,
Morning.
Sleeping circles.

My q w e r t y are quiet.
The keys are all letters,
No words.
Keeping silent,
Lying soundless.
Black plastic squares,
Metallic silver river,
Flowing around.
Dull.
Leaving me mute.
Leaving me bound.

The middle of the night is gone,
No longer around,
No longer surround,
Just some fragments lingering pre dawn.
Around me, surrounding me.
Lightless, brightless darkness.
And I'm here, restless, sleepless,
Really need to wee.

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

The pit is damp, the air compressed.
The walls too steep, my mind possessed.
No wind, no movement, not a breath.
Just thoughts and visions, smell of death.
I look up, the sky is black.
I once was out, but now I'm back.
Outside the pit, on outer ground.
Though on parole, my soul was bound.
The thoughts, the visions came with me.
Inner, outer, never free. Never free. Never free.

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.

Soundless, voiceless howl.
Untouching, unstirring, unfound.
Smashing the air inside my lungs,
Catapulting dying oxygen crumbs.
Performing the gasping melody chime.
Drowning me in a pond of brine.

I need to be, I need to try, I need to have, I need to do,
more, more, more, just,
alive. often. air. more.

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.

I want you to wake up,
And wish that I was there.
And when you have your breakfast,
To hate the empty chair.
To cry into your pillow,
Just like I do.
And for your bed to be so cold,
Since I’m not there with you.
But really most of all,
I want you to know,
With every fibre of your being,
You shouldn’t have let me go.

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.

The hand on time,
Is not, not mine.
Moving the dial,
Not moving the dial,
Not moving the dial.
So I stay,
Rotating round and round,
Into the ground, into the ground.
I'm planted, no roots, no bark,
Half buried, half alive.

A salt lake in my eyes,
Right behind the lids.
Two briny pools,
Corroding my mids.
Rusting my soul,
Oxidising my veins.
Two briny pools,
Over flowing my pains.

First I was born,
Then I was cut,
Into pieces, parts.
Separated, branded,
Marked.
White, female, Jewish – stamped.
And so, I'm stuck,
In this, existence
With these pieces,
With these stamps.
Even if I vary,
It will never be throughout.
I can never scrub it off,
The mark.
There would always be a trace,
Of before,
Piece,
And stamp.

Erasing my days.
My minutes,
My seconds,
My hours,
Erased.
Then,
Recycling my new, empty days.

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