by Miranda Cichy The year I grew tomatoes I had no understanding that my body was failing, how the plants needed more earth than I could give them, out in the yard on a concrete bed, hunkered in pots the size of my skull. I fed them too early, I forgot to… Continue Reading ‘Poor Growing Season’, by Miranda Cichy
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D is for Dysesthesia It’s also for dictionary. I’m very fond of mine. I was given it as a gift in 1993. Emblazoned on the front are the following statements: • The foremost dictionary of current English: now thoroughly revised and expanded • 120,000 entries and 190,000 definitions • Over 20,000… Continue Reading ‘D is for Dysesthesia’, by Gillian Shirreffs
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Helplessness. It’s worse for me you know. You are only suffering but you do that every day. But every day I wake up and with the reddened sky I know that I can never help you. Hopelessness. It’s worse for me. You can imagine a cure or some relief though you know – you know… Continue Reading ‘Helplessness’, by @simonsalento
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Waking up at 2am Neck locked again Tilt forward, searing pain Then snap, try to get back to sleep A morning spent studying Sat at a laptop, the pain spreads To my shoulders, I stretch Moving head and shoulders, crackle Late evening and writing is done I think I might be too I move and… Continue Reading ‘Snap, Crackle and Pop’, by Amanda Steel
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The difference between lowercase-p, pain, and uppercase-P, Pain, is huge. Bigger than just a shift-key should make it. The difference between “Yeah, let’s go on a hike today!” and “I can’t walk today.” The difference between pain that ends, and Pain that just backs off for a while. The difference between the morning pills and the afternoon… Continue Reading ‘pain and Pain’, by M-S-Y
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PAIN AND ITS KILLERS relief is an acceptable inevitable storm-head alarm that holds back its rain and mumbles thunder instead a hard-sell of cotton ignorance on the sofa that’s the world MOON the days hurt and the nights – well they’re a VHS video-nasty trembling on pause I only hope the the moon knows why… Continue Reading ‘A MEDLEY OF PAIN POPS’, by ford dagenham
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I am in the centre of nothing. Nothing cushions me. Nothing protects me I am comfortable surrounded by nothing Nothing is nice and kind and gentle. I am nobody in nothing I am special in nothing Nothing matters in nothing Nothing is everything I am nothing Nothing touches me I touch nothing Nothing moves me… Continue Reading ‘Nothing’, by Una Sombra
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A rookery, long abandoned now, had been built inside my body. I don’t know where the birds went or why, one day, they uninhabited, leaving only their barbed-wire residues, strung across the boughs of my hips; all sticks and spit, all hollows meant for holding something small, still desperately alive. I’m sorry – I’m afraid … Continue Reading ‘The Diagnosis’, by Roseanne Watt
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