Head of by Kamey Jade

I stretch to reach. I bow to catch. I jump to fall. I stoop to sit. No elegance graces me. No beauty withholds me. The rush I feel to evade company is antagonising. They are fools I reassure myself. How could they stoop so low and hold belief that I would never see through them? I have captured them glaring from afar and have studied their falseness from the tip of my nose. I laugh to myself for thousands of seconds a day at how they have assured themselves that I will stay. I know I posses the power to have them eating from my hand, but I would never want their breath upon my skin, near my stubby fingers.


The empty nights alone are preferred until I can escape this hollow place and the shallow audience that tries to beckon me.


I wonder aloud most days to keep myself company. The cold turkey has been its most traumatic and now I need to be free. But they have decided amongst themselves that I need to be kept in with like mindedness. How the fuck do they know what my mind is like? They have never explored my personality and just put me on a pedestal the minute I was checked into this place. I know they think I am tricking them and that is why they capture me or is it because they want to break me, so they can keep themselves occupied? If I could just add colour to the rooms and get rid of the staff and addicts, I could have this as my home. My home. My home. This place does not exist. This place is as fictional as my freedom of drugs is. I'm addicted 'cos I need. I need 'cos I want. I want 'cos I am alive. I am alive cos I desire to keep having more and more to let me fantasise. To let it all swirl me into a different place where pretentiousness doesn't exist, where materialism and judgement are not around. Why do they want me in their world? Why do they want me to see the suffering that goes on? Why do they want me to struggle and do things I don't want to do? Who decided that their way is best and all should follow? I am hurting no one. I have no one. I long for no one. I crucify myself as this is all of my ambition. I know they are envious. I can hear their unspoken words becoming more and more curious. One day I will break them down.

full stop

"it was a mercy killing."

he runs his fingers over
deep gouges where flesh
has been colored away
it reminds him of
the lines around his eyes

something went
wrong. I'm
sorry
something

he can not accept
what the mirror
tries to tell him in casual
conversation

the shadow of a
pale mother in his beatific
face - afraid of trains
and high places

Something
was never right.

a diseased kidney
dirt under fingernails
a roadmap of deformity
shaping the mouth
of someone's molested daughter

then force the ring
down his throat
(to the symphony of children
screaming with delight)
and swallows

he could have interred himself
in the cemetery
where she had become one
(of the gargoyles)

Something went wrong.
It was never right.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.

he considers giving himself
over to the police
before remembering that no one
had been killed

"no mercy after all."