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Black, cruel harsh world

Defiantly stares back at me

Knowing my in escapable fate

a jinx, a fix, a hoax

My rigged destiny perplexes me

whilst the depths of my minds

are subdued and forgetting

Too anxious, too tired, too complex

I am a shadow of my former self

Even now as my words flow

I rattle like a pebble in a tin can

Ship wrecked and ruined.

My scrawlings of madness and melancholy may appear the work of a theatrical thespian

but for me simplicity is unobtainable

For I must dwell on every single minute detail

Too little and or too much knowledge

I am submerged in my own quick sand

Too little too late

Oh cruel harsh world

By Kay Holdsworth February 1996 – On a blue day