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accident time, or, love song for a ‘90s playwright

after and for Sarah Kane

how the mind fragments
and wakes
at forty-eight minutes past four

your plays
it could be said
were part a way of dictating
the breakdown of your inner world

that palace of despair
baroque depravities
crumbling brick by brick

until only roaches remained
as residents
one looking to the sun
and thinking with its insect brain:

“what sort of place is this?”

end scene
Written by Casted_Runes (Mr Karswell)
Published
Author's Note
“Here I am
and there is my body
dancing on glass
In accident time where there are no accidents
You have no choice
the choice comes after” - Sarah Kane, 4.48 Psychosis

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