A ceaseless sea of flustered words,
a boat with no sail, wind lost, my mind,

Delirious.
A hawk, hovering on an updraft.

I watch, perched on the light above.
ethereous.

The sepulchral voices creep, slip
through the ears, stroking the skin,
Tingle.
I am drifting, lost.
Disembodied concerned, voices,
Mingle.

Spoken words coalesce, in my mind.

Complex language, a scientific dialect.
I feel.
With the foreign tongue,
it is my language yet it is not.
Squeal!

It never ceases. Constant, every other beat,
every other beat. Blood rush.
Arrhythmic.
Below my mind, just floating, only me,
just me, in this sea, floating
Cataclysmic.

At the gates of heaven. The last bird whistles
friendly tune, the language ceases,
Banshee wail.
It breaks my heart, no light, no calling voice,
no great gold gates, no herald.
Coffin nail.

Deep within, no peril, nothing,
No more drifting, just sinking.
Purgatory screeches.
Or even hell? Drowning, gasping.
Devoured by my own sorrow,
The Void reaches.

From air comes earth, soft but hard.

My back, upon this terra firma, cotton. 

A Balloon?

I blink, world comes into focus,

Haze and wonder and flush,

“Get Well Soon”

My lips part and my lungs,
scream. Electricity drawn in,
Death exhaled.
“She’s awake”, I hear, the words, flustered

My soul aligns, reality jarring.
Life prevailed.

I grab the words with my eye.

Drag them back into the line.

Another word skitters off.

I have to go and fetch it. 

Each time is yet another pause.

This time the words begin to melt together

A bizarre Papier Mache mush, 

Like grey snow slush pavements.

Black words and stained yellow paper

Merge. 

I have to stop, put down my book. 

A hot flush. 

‘Read on’ or ‘why have you stopped’

I’m hot.

This time the words choke my throat, 

Strangle me; less and less they form noticeable sounds

‘Next’ the teacher sighs. 

A fluent vocal flows past me. 

Superior. It seems mean.

Now the words are still, silent -

Contemptuous of my defective eye.

I sit silently, turning the dreaded pages.

‘Your turn.’

This time I sigh. I leash the words 

To a metaphorical lamppost.

’Stay’ I say.

But they never do.

I cry in the dark, to the empty room,
Cry out my worries, cry out my sanity,
watch as it washes away.
The streams of blood never stops,

The boxes, tablets, pills I have to take,
I can’t remember: What I’ve tried?
What didn’t work? Hormones? Painkillers?
Scans? How about a leach or two?

I cry to the empty room, tell it of my imagination,

a woman in tears, Checking in – or checking out.

“The funny farm”

“I want to go to the funny farm!”

I sob, God?

Am I still under warranty?

Can I return this body?

Hopeless, useless junk.

Not as advertised! You’re getting a neg!

Would NOT buy from this seller!

The order came early but I’m still waiting,

for all the working parts to arrive.

I’m waiting, for the bleeding to stop.

I’m waiting for more pain to begin.

For my joints to work,

My migraine to desert me.

One day, I will go outside,

outside without pain,

without stress, or depression,

without holding my happy face on. 

*Authors Note: This is an actual scan of my brain. The doctor said "It's suprsingly normal considering..." 

As I lie one ear to the air,

in muted terror, even I

so used to the howl & clatter 

of street bins a sunder.

My dormers creak.

I am entirely used to but, 

never less frightened am I.

So do I wonder will we survive

or wake up not in Kansas anymore

My dormers creak.

As I lie awake, thinking to the dark 

In all likelihood, probability stands 

The Wolf has not blown this straw house down

nor was it built upon the sand 

But still my dormers creak.

I am paralysed, despite a sense of knowing:

Sleepless insanity still prevails.

So this place stands, 170 years or more 

A sandblasted castle, a howl & clatter

The dormer forever creak

*Authors Note: Picture demonstrating offending dormer.