He dreams of the last time when he raced on that track.
He remembers each second as if it were a lifetime.
He remembers how in the last few seconds he was blinded.
He doesn’t know who threw sand into his eyes.
He remembers falling down and losing the race.
He dreams of winning the next one.

He picks up his crutches.

Portia, There?

Pray tell him I died because I swallowed coal,
I pray you, tell him not the truth,
For the truth is a thorn in the minds of men,
Which pricks their sanity, deflecting purpose.
Hear me out, and tell him thus,
That did walls have ears, I would have wailed in them,
Every word that I wished to pour in his ears.
That Caesar he did love, yet what did he do,
To fate such as he did fate, were it right?
Brutus runs today, and he does fear light,
And those that were friends over the night turned against,
Were it worthy of a friend to stab,
How he did behind his back?
Today I will die because I swallow heat,
But I’ve died a thousand times in the hundred days that have passed,
Swallowed my pride, my happiness, my love.
And who does he fear, but a child Octavius,
Does he not fear the child in him,
Whence he committed what he did, did he not fear that?
Who once looked upon it as a deed of justice,
Today flees from here to there, forgetting himself.
He is without me. I am within him.
Tell him I love him, and that I was sad because of issues,
Which do not press, which do not concern him.
And bid him my goodbyes.

What Do You See?

When you look at the sea, what do you see?
Do you see how it wailed when people drowned in it,
Or do you see its smile when a kid splashed water on himself.
Do you see how it smiled when the sun rose above it,
And do you see how upset it was when the sky grew red this evening?

When you see me, what do you see?
Do you see a friend that cares, or one who pretends,
To hide the truth so he can mask himself in lies.
Do you see how much he loves you and cares not what others think,
Or do you see how blatantly he confesses it.
What do you see?


Her eyes were red, as she opened them,
A syringe lying on the floor beside,
Feebly she stood up instantly falling down,
Though she cupped her hands, she hardly could hide.
Far at the other corner lied a skirt and a blouse,
Which wasn’t torn the last time she’d seen it,
But now tattered it was as if brought down,
By a lion to the last morsel, the room dimly lit.

She loathed back and sat, against the wall red with blood,
Her legs tightly stuck to hide her left ounce of womanhood,
She knew what she hid had lost its purpose,
Slowly again after a while she stood.
She came out into the light, and a hundred saw her,
Ashamed to see her spat on by humanity,
And whilst they tried to lower their heads,
She kept walking, ignoring the profanity.
And then she stood in the middle of the road,
And the truck opposite could not stop on time,
As it passed over her she did not cry,
She smiled to hear the death knoll chime.