Rementia: 1

by Arran James

Perhaps I’ll lash out

in a violent delirium.
Come closer. Kiss me
on the forehead. This

isn’t rage, just the outward show

of some deprivation I cannot speak.
I might even sing to you


and fists
and teeth and kicks.
Behind the

scream I’m trying to whisper,
trying to touch you, to be touched.

Who am I now
in this place that denies me,
where strangers come
and steal everything remaining.