Sunday Writing Prompt #228 “It’s All In The Title”

I am not a man who visits desire.

A shriveled fruit, a pillar of salt

my emptiness splits me like a moat.

I am the alter ego who got away.

a crippled fetus, a dissident fugue

the light shrugs me off like a ghost.

I sleep with the corners tucked in

that I can keep the darkness close

for in that darkness I have no distinction.

I haven’t written very much poetry lately nothing that you haven’t seen so I am very rusty



The Disappearance of Sanity

I have accepted the training program at The Unemployment Office, it will provide me with a minimal income and hopefully lead to future employment. It is 4 hours a day but with the bus schedule as it is, if I can’t get any leeway, it will be more like 6 hours. I am not a flexible person and my time management skills are atrocious no matter what I do I am going to lose several hours to the great, untenable void that is Dissociation. Will I be left with enough time for my other responsibilities? At the moment I am just not certain if I can pull it off but it is presumably possible, as I was a student. The course starts this Monday and thus it may take me time to get my bearings. I still haven’t managed to reestablish my routine as is, February was a horrendously busy month. I am also worried about therapy because I am not certain I can ask for every other Friday off and I don’t see how I can do both given the distance between the locations and the horrifically long wait traveling by bus entails. My therapist’s hands on methods make me wonder if Skype would even be a possible compromise. The course runs for many months. I can’t skip therapy for several months. On another note while I was in the throws of mute hysteria on the bus (where I am nearly deaf btw) I received a call from the doctor, it seems that they messed up my Pap Smear and have to do it again. An appointment I now have no time to make (the woman’s clinic I go to is also very far away from where I take my job training).

Photo Challenge #52

Into a Dream Beata Cervin

Beata Cervin

My feet only skirt the breeze

Who needs roots when the soil

Is fed on shit and slivered screams.

I rummage through a contagious womb

My femininity is of no solace to me.

Those things which cannot be seen

Must be stolen if they are to be tamed.

My heart once clear, is now opaque

Dreams enter but they never retreat.

When the lights flare I slip back

Into the drain praying for the water

To wash away the evidence.

Insignificant and unsubstantiated

There is nothing more toxic

Than those lozenges of truth

Which hover for a time and then dissolve.



Tale Weaver Prompt 2: Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner and Writing Prompt # 95 – Phantasmagoria

The door to my mind is ajar

Everyone stumbles on entry

Some thresholds should not be

Undertaken alone

(even for the sake of dinner).

It is not for me to offer

The tenets’ identity

Lonely women will often lie

Beneath the plainest stones

But I would never dare

Call such women ordinary

They do not even require a name

For who would dare personify

That which is already human?


The stars are all broken

The stars are all crossed

Nothing that is left

Could possibly last.

I traveled a thousand miles

Over land and sea

Through the offal

Of countless identities.

Everyone I’ve touched

Has taken a piece of me

What was prime is now

Perishable and had I lived

I might have faced you

You being a euphemism for me.


There were three at the beginning

I the mother, I the daughter, I the spirit

But one of them had to die

That the others could

Entertain another holiday.

The daughter is not likely

To rise again

For no one ever loved her

As though she were a child.

Some people are born

Without permission

Such scars are sure to survive

For how could death contain them?





It’s not enough to die

But it happens often

In the course

Of my courseless day.

A shallow breath

Does not mend the heart

Or summon inspiration.

A shallow breath

Fills the recipient with dread

With great ravenous heaps

Of featureless paranoia.


My guard fastens as a leech

Draining the light

From the blood-stained scythe

Beneath my nose.

I am still a child

Compared to my mother

And such a spoiled one at that.

I keep waiting for a solution

For deliverance from trauma.

Somewhere a serpent

Gains wings and it is my excess

That furnishes them.


If I were that dragon

If I were stone and sinew

Calcium and fire

Keratin and sediment

I might be strong enough

To face the sun

As it falls shrieking

Behind the sea.


But I am not that dragon

I am a chronic extinction

A backwards miracle

A savior who is all intent

But no deliverance.

I let myself down

In every moment

That slips by unseen.



Caroline Gates

What has become of my unshed tears

Do they remain within, fossilized and mute?

I claw futilely at my wrists wishing that I could

Pluck them free as if a quill or a splinter

Yet they remain ripping holes in all my dreams


There is loneliness in futility

In the relentless casting of soiled dress

I’ve been too long a daughter

What emergency now remains

That I should be obliged to exit?

I can assure myself of a pulse

And yet life still does not carry on

For I have not been trained in life

Only in the alternate, survival 


I also wrote a poem at Curious Scribbles today and another group of short poems I was going to post but then I wrote this and decided to go with this



Kylli Sparre

My eyes ride deeper

Into their sockets

An exodus from the mundane?

Or an inclination toward delirium?

My brain transposes in crayon

I’ve never once visited

The Prime Material Plane

They say it’s inhabited

By the shells of my ancestors


Is it okay to remain “not quite”?

Not quite there

Not quite human

Not quite right

Not quite good enough


I peel the caramelized edges

From your smile

There are moments

When life is indigestibly sweet

And moments when every fruit proffered

Is naught but seeds and rind.

In defeat there is always the chance

For existential growth

If a bottom

Than a sky, silver-lined


I’ve a complicated relationship with society

When I was young and in school

My teachers complimented my wisdom

People often ask me how to live

(I’ve given a lot of unusable advice)

How the the hell should I know?

Technically I’m crazy


The Prime Material Plane is the one we live in

I don’t find it strange that people confide in me but that they seek my counsel is rather strange considering 😛 I think it goes to show we all have influence.


IMG_6423 (1)

Ray Caesar

I am the slick void

Of an unsought retreat

My lips form a horizon

The red litmus

Of a fractured sun stalling

Clouds bate with honey

And hold in tempest


I speak of the spirit only

For my flesh

Is mystically detached

My roots prey

In black water

Unseen and unsound


Truth lies adjacent

To humiliation

As soon as I stand upright

The ground splits beneath

Am I strong enough to face

Perpetual uncertainty?


There are too many pauses

In my composition

Quantum physics has made

Everything possible

And simultaneously indefinite

Today I am a hunchback

Tomorrow I’ll be a swan

Hope is always grandiose


Anyone who read yesterday’s post at Curious Flowers is aware that I have been diagnosed with PNES most likely related to some form of dissociative disorder. I still have to be evaluated for a dissociative disorder but it seems quite likely. I just received a response from my mom which was very sweet. A quote from her email “I look at you and see what I would like to be” I don’t think she means the PNES part of course.