June 29, 2017

Let me go to the hills

They stand so clear against the sky.

Let me run against the currents

Across the harbour,

The waves will scald my feet

The sun will burn my brow.

The hills are stern as sentinels.

Concrete heels crack

On the sunburnt road.

The hills ahead scrape the sky

Leaving cloudy grazes.

So let me go to the hills.

I will curl up

Under the totara

Amidst the skeleton leaves

That litter the floor.

June 29, 2017

She used to have freedom

She was free

Of all the things that poison her brain

But she is older 

She has responsibilities

And she is no longer free of poison and traps

Her life is now a living hell

She will never be safe

She has been taken, trapped in her own head

She is kept a prisoner

“it will be your safe place” they tell her

“You will not be of harm here” they tell her

“We can keep you sane” they tell her    

“Bad people are c...

June 28, 2017

I'm standing there, really standing there. Those are my feet standing on the curb, my fingers curling and uncurling in front of my disbelieving eyes. It’s busy. People are walking in every direction. So many people. Shops drawing people in and spitting them back out. The noise, it’s so loud. Everyone is talking, yet I can’t hear a thing they’re saying. Some are talking into small brick-shaped things, maybe communication device...

June 19, 2017

Today I am on the bus at dawn, moving slower than the fog staggering dreamily up Dizengoff Street. From my window I see mothers, laden with milk and bread, and alcoholics, trembling outside the liquor store. I am sitting alone, though the bus is nearly full. This is purely my fault, old maid that I am, though that term is too thin, too sparse, to fully blanket my body. I am not a strip of chewing gum like the girls these days....

June 19, 2017

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.” - H.P. Lovecraft

Miserable day. Mist ran rampant through the quiet courtyard, seeping in through the bordering iron fences, pouring over the chipped cobblestone and dry earth. Sounds of false grief and the quiet patter of morning rain were all but drowned out by the uneven note of the first shovelful of earth...

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