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
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
Oh my Dogg! Designer Babies?!? Genetically engineered Humans?!? That baby is perfectly designed by YOU!
Kait King 2018
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…
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…
Would it not be reasonable to think that an individual who ‘requires’ a restraining order, is the type of individual who would break a restraining order?
Kait King 2017
Crystal Meth
An addicts’ breath
Inhales a smoky dream
In reality
You’re never free
Just a brains’ endless scream
Crystal Meth
Talk in depth
Required by any means
Close to death
That last crystal breath
It’s not as great as it seems
Crystal Meth
Families bereft
Bury a loved one, crying
Cold caress
This Crystal Meth
And our children keep on dying
© Kait King, 2016
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