The First Day…

Standard

Blueprint of a Storm

Because madness is a lie too. Like night. Like death.

— Alejandra Pizarnik

Hello… I decided to start a new blog. Blank page. Fresh start…

Planning to post my writing here & poetry as I go. Aiming to submit more of my writing this year in hopes to have more published. Currently I am designing a website for my work & will launch my first poetry book from there. I will link the website here once I’ve bashed the site into shape a bit more!

My mental health has not been good for waay over a year and I have struggled with me & with mental illness and life has been hard & I’m trying to get back into this whole writing thing. I will get there!

I have missed writing sooo much & I have missed being more present, & following more of all the wonderful writing on here…

View original post 68 more words

Blueprint of a Storm

Standard

Hello all writing & creative fellow creatures ! Just a short post to say I’m moved over to a new blog page, oddly titled “Blueprint of a Storm” !

For over a year I’ve been ill & struggling with mental illness & disorder on top of disorder and life has been stranger than normal.. normal is not a word i say lightly (as I have never been absolutely sure wtf that is ?) but I have missed the ability to write & i have missed being more active here & reading all your wonderful writing & posts !

From today future poetry & scribbles & some you may know will be posted there ! Hope to see you over there ! as this page will self destruct in … 10… 9 … 8 … you get the picture !

Blueprint of a Storm https://wordpress.com/view/blueprintofastorm.com

TY — kbain

the clay / an crèadh

Standard

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.

priob / flicker

Standard

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

Standard

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

Standard

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

Standard

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.