I haven’t left this house
for a week or just about.
Blinds shut. Curtains drawn.
But light sneaks in as I peer out.
One eye on the street.
Two kids meet.
I know what they’re about.
I haven’t left this room
for a day, maybe two.
As I sit and stew
on a floor that’s littered with shirts and shoes,
scrolling through the news.
The abuse is self induced.
I haven’t slept for days.
I can hardly see through this haze.
Not just the smoke
inhaled in the hope that there are better ways
to cope with the violence.
To pass the days.
I haven’t left this house
for a month. I can’t go out.
I can’t face the day.
I would rather stay locked away.
Maybe tomorrow, but I have my doubts.
And I know it’s in my mind.
This happens all the time,
but I’m starting to see
what this could mean
for me. This waking dream
where I’m unraveling at the seams.
Playing out in real time.
A thriller of the silver screen,
or so it seems.
I can’t stop.
I can’t press pause.
My lungs forgot
how to inhale and how to breathe,
or so it seems.
And I know it’s in my mind,
but it’s so much worse this time,
and I’m starting to see,
that this won’t work for me.
I’m still in this house.
The air is poison now.
It’s time to break down the door,
light a match and burn it down.
A collaborative ode to the mythology and culture of the Czech Republic, pairing meditative poetry with menacing sounds. Bandcamp New & Notable Jan 12, 2022
Portland's Dao Strom describes her work as "song poems," gorgeously layered dark ambient folk soundscapes with a heavy sense of foreboding. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 6, 2020