dangerous

Lest Someone Forgets

/ Kait King / 33 Comments

lest we forget

Why won’t you sing our song

We sing yours over here

Why don’t you whisper

our fallen’s names

Or don’t you really care

If blood alone had been spilt

Could you tell that blood apart

Or perhaps without the body

You could tell the difference

in their hearts

Why won’t you sing our Kiwi song

They fought as brothers in arms

They all fell in the same stinking hell

They deserve a name whispered

in the calm

© Kait King, 2015

Covidius Insidious

/ Kait King / 25 Comments

Here comes

A virus

Here comes

A plague

Here comes

The UN

The WHO

Der Hague

Here comes

Mad Max

Here comes

The Stand

Chaotic

Pandemic

Just a question

Of when

And death:

Is it 1 in 2

Or 1 in 4?

Or 6 out of 10?

Or even…

More?

Here is

The second coming

See the

Novel mute

Silent

Violent

Sneaky death

A body

Down a chute

Listen…

Gloves are

Snapping on

Facemasks

In demand

No one knows

This chaos

The world is

Out of hand

Kait King 20/03/20

She is nothing like me

/ Kait King / 41 Comments

Nothing like me

Gingerly I type the words, wondering if I may be the only person who thinks like this. god’s daughter is turning out to be more appalling than horrific, more repulsive than disgusting. I can feel her like black tar in my mind. She calls me to write her out – to layer her like a black wedding cake, all the details – the spiders, the webs, the cockroaches, the mould and dusty aura of her mind. The corners of her life are all in shadow, a shadow I have to be brave enough to step into and feel the darkness that is god’s daughter. She wants to be created but she doesn’t want me – I am nothing to her, just like everyone else.

And she is nothing like me…

In The Grip Of god’s daughter

/ Kait King / 32 Comments

no-welcome

Twisted

I’m finding it hard at times, to write god’s daughter. I have to go to such a dark place and think such dark thoughts that it can be exhausting…and actually put me off writing this story. I don’t know where she has come from, but she won’t leave me alone until I’ve told her story.

Isn’t it a strange way to look at one’s own internal thoughts? I mean, she’s just a made up character, right?! But I feel like I’ve had zero control over where this is going. She is what she is and I’m writing about it. Is she a part of me? Is she always going to be a part of me or will she let me go when I’ve written her out? The longer I delay writing god’s daughter, the longer she will be stalking around in my head. Could she end up taking over? A blemish on the intriguing landscape of my brain. I’m wasting time…I must write…