Monica Richards

The Trauma Coil

Monica Richards


Another night down on the Catherine wheel   Drawn into a corner  
A symphony of resounding shrieks in my head  

I court a sure, sudden death   But give no quarter  
A paper soul tears the heart from the mind  

Searing is the morning, a tenement of lights   Lost inside the attic  
On the floor again with a head full of rain  

Wander with the shadows of shelter and smiles   Bleeding in a stairwell  
Fever-staggered steps and a mouth so dry  

Three liquid words collapse   Blind and chasing sirens  
Five years of night time and a heart made of tin  

Allow your sympathies the length of a table   I recognize no brother  
Lash out at their smiles and walk in through their eyes  

As my knowledge, does the knowing   Split my being from past days  
In decision, in departing   In the severance of old ways  
With precision, in my silence   I perceive the bitter still  
Imposition, these young calling   Withered kisses, or the kill?  

Together we stand   We stand so still  

Indifference, hollow laughter   Bathes the walls of this lost home  
So futile, all attempts   Affectations, long to roam   Ever spinning, vile actress  
Answered blindly to the call   The price, child yet again we sit   And watch our private rome fall  

I am not well   No, not well at all