the clay / an crèadh

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what we are is illusion

and all around a construct

of a dream or of a hell, dependent only on whichever end of the microscope

you’re looking through, been granted

access to. capitalists have

no power and yet hold all. full of false delusions, no insights, no light, no infinite—no witchcraft coursing through their hearts.

if indeed—they have a heart,

if indeed—it is possible for the hollow man

to have a soul, in which a heart resides and grows to bloom.

inside

a crumbling pile of dirt

or earth,

the clay —which is too natural the source of

life—for any hollow man. what is the earth when it dies ?

the plant that is deprived of light and life,

restricted in its growth, starved of nourishment and of the sun

and yet unlike the hollow man—it feels.

the earth brings forth and nurtures life, supports.

even the dead moon has a purpose,

comforts us in its light, shining a way out

through the darkness.

©kbain2019.

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priob / flicker

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suicide is an animal,

growling. irrationally snarling

back at you,

on hollow days. agitated,

hungry to

extinguish the pain,

clawing at the surface

soil, looking

for flesh laid bare.

the raw memories you can’t

quite see or hold. the fear

you buried deep,

the coldness of past pain.

the silence that your

soul remembers sleeping,

dreaming inside

a life, before the light

went out.

©kbain19.

fuileachadh / bleeding

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I sat, still. gut wrenched, holding.

Nib to parchment scraping. cutting.

tracing veins that would no longer quicken.

until I vomited you. out. bleeding the past. the way out through the buried box.

contaminating the air. singing

as a newborn.echoing through the darkness.

afterwards. raw. eyes wide. finally awake.

flooding, senses heightened.

I knew. I was alive.

©kbain18.

briseadh / breaking

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my mother is gone. no longer
can i call her on the phone, hear the smile
in her voice. i sit in the dark 
thousands of years away from that moment 
and picture home. watching the waves & the
wild of the sea quietens me, in my mind
something stills, just for a moment 
the anxiety stops. the thoughts never stop. 
my mind is never silent, turning over the strangest things, thoughts flip. 

glass is really a liquid. i used to stare at
windows in between sentence & fixate, on this. 
glass is molecules. it exists in the space between water, and structured reality. it is amorphous, like our bodies. it will warp, but can bend more than us 
before it breaks. eventually everything shatters.

once i broke down. i was absent, missing 
vocal sound. i have thought & thought 
about where i went that year. i have no answer.

walls are still, but they hear & see 
everything we do. i drop food on the floor, 
see particles in my mind decomposing. breaking down, pulling away, radiating outwards towards the point of absorption. rotting skin, ants, worms, writhing maggots move all around. i feel them crawl 
spreading over me. 

i can’t stand to be. here, anymore. 
my brain is malfunctioning. decomposing 
from the second we are born, we are withering. dying from the inside 
rotting out, like my mother. 
i close my eyes. she speaks to me. she is gone. she is gone. she is gone. the reality of her absent form repeats,
she sits beside me.

©kbain2018.

bàthadh / drowning

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love has been an unexpected found, lost for me before i dared to open the hands that clenched, trying to contain. bloomed confusion obscured inside the shadowed hurt of childhood. before i unlocked the door to inner self, found you outwith.

love has been the cold reflective, steel blade. understanding, giving. unforgiving. the release of who i am, my path back to you.

the path to emotions shuttered room, where i pray on tired knee. beg to die, beg to live, to come alive. to feel renewal inside, energies light, birthing the summer sun.

the fight, to barter with emotion. life’s metronome unbalanced. the constant flux. the unexpected found, the unsound. the fight within, to understand the eternal source, that drags me down to the drowning pool.

©kbain18.

tuiteamach / falling

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when you speak to me of love

your voice is all constricted,

your gaze is down,

watching restless movements,

birds circling your feet — today’s incompletes

drowning in substantive

thought — i can feel it — the reverberated

shuffling, night’s ripple of uncomfortable,

mistimed tuneless

unorchestrated movements,

the awkward in-betweens of our life.

and yet.

full of care,

care sits right over there,

with you. sits where you sit, somehow

it fits, & i am — comfortable

for the first time — in a long time. yet

my heart is pounding, rushing, flowing,

pulsing, growing into you, pulling away.

blooming — booming — my voice

is all avoidance, avoiding me, the day,

my feelings as all the words flow on repeat

and rush away — flowing forwards,

rushing, running,

leaving me.

standing -— still.

my mind

and all contained — will never find the still,

the air around, the room in which we sit

or stand, to fall.

i fall, i fail.

the continual fall to fail,

below your feet.

and who am i.

a passing torment.

a passing — wasted

moment,

inside the blink —

of your eye.

©kbain2018.

sgèith / fly

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E s c a p e [myself ]

o u t r u n myself

get o u t of myself

in and out of myself

r u n n i n g through

away and from this[self ]

out fly myself

out-time and space

myself

declassify the

pain filled space

within [myself ]

the cluttered messy

mistake[s] of myself

the mess within

the core of myself

inside

the madness within

the brain

that creates this[self ]

the s o u n d that R o a r s

past

silence inside

the volume within

my[self ]

the voices telling

me what

i need to

do

to [myself ]

the slices of life

I’ve taken in

H a t r e d of [myself ]

all the time

not

e v e r

there for

[my]

self..

I want [so ] much

to l e a v e

myself

while

there is s t i l l

some [self ]

and — f l y — to You.

©kbain2018.