Memories are strange things; one ticket for the private screening of my life. That is, what i can remember of it. The funny thing is i will remember the best and the worst but the mundane things, the things that make up the bits in between, i won’t. I won’t remember having spaghetti on the 23rd of august, or the face of that boy i once kissed; their lips along with their name become a blur, just as that night has. It’s strange how a faded memory in my eyes is the most remembered night from another’s. It’s strange how i can think back to some nights, almost as if i am there once more. It’s strange how now, today, may not even become a memory to be forgotten; too mundane to maintain in the jumble of memories that remain inside this head of mine. It is strange. 


sickly sweet.




We left our hearts at the door

Leaving only the beat to enter

Not wanting anymore than what’s led out for us in the sheets





As we grasp onto this night of heat

While the sickly sweet taste of naivety tarrs our lungs

Coating the vile taste of reality


Hearts held apart at arms length

But mouths are discovering new lands

And they’re liking the taste of the freshly cut grass.




Time to sink into the black abyss of my mind,

I’m being dragged down by the weight of the anchor strapped to my feet,

What once started as the needle has become the hay stack,

Towering over everything i do,

Focussing on what i lack,

Pulling me down until i can’t remember what came before;

Itching me to i claw the inside of my brain.


I float on the surface of the ice cold cool blue,

My ears are muffled,

As if the water has become the captain to my ship,

Controlling what i can hear

And if i sink deeper; what i can feel.

But i relax because i know that i won’t float or sink forever,

I might end up on the shore disguised as the tide

And walk along the sand to find a jungle by my side so lively that even the birds cower.

One that is so alive that it towers over me and i try to do the same,

One that muffles my mind with a single breath.

A sea that was once blue is now just replaced by one of green.

But i will relax because i know i won’t be walking in this foreseen jungle until the end of time;

I worry that if the water that resides inside my ears,

That muffles the world so well,

Will refuse to set sail when the gales arrive


Or when i land in that dock i’ve been dreaming of since i’ve floated in both blue and green,

The same dock that i know i will feel safe in it’s embrace,

Holding me close,

Loving and looking after my helm for the duration of my stay.

Now i will start to worry;

I will worry because for the first time since i set sail i won’t be invariably looking out of my crow’s nest,

I will worry because i will be blind to the storms that so clearly brew above me,

But most of all i will worry because i will be happy with my stay in this dreamy dock of mine.


The point is,

Everything is temporary and it’s fucking drowning me.


Sometimes i think about how different things could have been,

Between you and me,

Or how i see the stars shine,

Or how the possibility of looking into someone’s eyes,

And feeling so alive i forget how to breathe is not one so far fetched.

Sometimes i wonder what it was like a thousand years ago,

Or two thousand,

Or even sometimes three.

I wonder about how when they looked up at the stars they would see the same Orion’s belt as me;

Surprisingly still neatly fitting around his waist,

Maybe he’s had it loosened because surely he hasn’t kept on top of his dietary plan for millennia.

Sometimes i think about how people think;

About me and how they see the world,

But everyone’s so different how could i know?

But i try;

As if i’m clay free to mold in a pottery stand,

They come with their harsh hands,

Moulding me into who they want me to be and i agree because to be wanted is top priority,

I stand my ground,

Asking to be heard,

Asking for my opinion to be taken into consideration but sometimes i want nothing but to be anchored to the warmth of my duvet and to the comfort of my bed,

Anchored so tightly like a sunken ship not even found by schools of fish playing too deep,

To be held not by a person but by the tranquility of certainty in my own head.

But sometimes,

I want to climb between the cracks of buildings and stand on top of the world,

Watch it spin by as i look into your eyes,

And forget how to breathe.

white wings.

The sky of pink and lilac

Caresses the soft skin of the young,

Their minds not yet found by the harsh world,

Their bodies not yet held,

By bears holding butterflies.


Or by bears holding butterflies in the palm of their hands,

Surrounded by a net of claws,

Licking lips,

Whispering sweet nothings about their delicate white wings that shine in the light.


Butterflies fly from flower to flower,

Collecting nectar for survival.

But instead of flowers,

Bears stood in place,

And for nectar; complements.


The sky of pink and lilac

Caresses the wrinkled skin of the old,

Their minds finally found;

And their white wings continued to flutter

Long after complements stopped,

They didn’t need them to be beautiful.

the sea inside.

Eyes open,

Mind closed.

Encased in water

She slides down the side of the tub;

Submerging her body.

The tap drips,

Piercing the water;

Tidal waves form in her brain,

Disrupting thoughts,

Distorting memories.

The sound of outside is muffled;

Not silent,

But she prefers it.

She lifts her head,

Takes a breath,

The sea inside her silences,

The world pierces.


She retreats;

Body submerged.

Mind open,

Eyes closed.

nihilism, you drown my body and soul.

I can play along,

I can open my eyes each morning to a new day but an old routine,

One adopted when my mouth first took a breath of fresh air,

And was forced down my throat until i swallowed.

I can close my eyes and pretend i don’t prefer the reality that’s rested in the sheets of my

bed and the feathers of my pillows,

I can love who you tell me to,

I can cry when you want me to;

I can play along with your lie

Until the last piece of oxygen has left my lungs,

And my heart has taken it’s final beat,

Leaving the blood cold in my not long warm body.


I can play along,

But i don’t want to;

I don’t want to move my counter around the board and wait for the inevitable.