page two

I see him pacing my corridors,
Inciting me,
Stirring up the blood that is left in the empty
well of my being.
Night-time,
The other side of the unit
The other side of truth.
I can feel it,
The Beast Awry.
It passes the Office.
I follow it down the corridor,
I cannot focus upon it.
Blurring all the while,
Possibly so hideous my unconscious disables
my conscious processes.
A form without form.
An emptiness embodied.
It is so dark.
Only it is darker as it glides in front of me,
Taking me somewhere,
Checking the building with me.
It is my companion,
This Beast of Presence and Loss.
I check Door One.
Outside the rain comes down hard,
Huge pools begin to form.
Mesmeric noise
Bubbles forming and exploding.
A gothic feast is manifest around my shell.
The blackest of nights.
I entered the canteen, water appearing from
under the kitchen shutter.
Cracks were forming all over
As though my edifice were aging.
The Thing of Expansion

And Contraction Begins it’s destruction.
It wanted me, but from awry.
It stopped, moved close to me,
Space stretches around me
As in my dream,
stare into the unending cosmos.
There is lightning in my brain,
can see the red throne
Cast into dramatic reality.
fall to the ground.
Reduced to rubble.
Water tickles around me.
watch blood dilute with the freezing
Steadily rising.
Like a sick animal,
thought I should just lay there,
Senseless.
Awaiting a noble death.
My routine, my construct,
Splits
It becomes seamless.
still wear my mask: The Crown
It was useless, disease had entered building.
Then entered me.
Here lay the culmination of a life.
Everyone had gone.
Everything had gone.
Relationships had burnt out to fade
Embers, far into the recesses of time.
Anyone, now seemed so distant,
All my existing days were spent dilemma
of my corridor.
My protracted trauma,
Forever roaming and peering.

Door Three, check.
I tick the box,
Down corridor three to Door Four,
Check.
Here I could see the outside again,
Out there was only emptiness,
And Crows.
They hopped around malevolently,
Massing like an army,
Fire Alarm, check.
It read: LIVE.
Corridor One, tick box,
Rattle door One,
Tick Box,
I peer outside into the dawn,
There he is,
Watching
I am watching him.
I am ordered.
My core groans it’s sense of dread,
More attuned than my conscious mind
Which jabbers away on top.
An idiot,
An idiot bird stuck in it’s cage.
Corridor Two,
Tick Box,
Rattle Door Two.
Corridor Three,
Tick box,
Rattle Door Three,
Tick Box,
Nothing out there,
Except an unholy swarm of crows.
Fucking crows.

Their cries are muffled in here but believe
me,
YOU CAN’T HEAR YOURSELF THINK.
It is day two,
As with day four and seven,
I am allowed to interfere with myself with
the aid of Katrina,
At least for a second that bird in it’s cage
shuts up.
Then I write my diary
The story of me and my demise
Which I tell you now.
I spend my days almost mute,
Apart from the occasional outburst which
may spurt out from
Beneath the mask I wear to protect me from
disease.
Only in my office do I feel free to show my
mouth.
In my prison of routine,
In my jail, I am free.
Day Two,
Lunch.
Beans with small sausages, potatoes,
Micro-wave.
Ping.
I munch sitting at my desk just eating.
Nothing more than eating.
After lunch as always I lie down on my
creaking bed and watch the crack.
This is undoubtedly growing,
I see the crack and the building becoming
two.