Sunday, 13 September 2015

The Operating Theatre.

     A healing heart has never felt such disorientated confusion as it does 3 months post break up. The numb feeling that encompasses an organ once so dominant with the ideology of someone else, now laying dormant in preparation for the next human catalyst.
     After all the heartbreak and falsified hope, unrequited love turned into passionate hate. After the slow and painful acceptance that the love will never return, that he's not coming back and once again you have been left on your own to face your replacement. Forgive it, the heart is exhausted.
     Still lingering in the infinite void between leaving love behind and discovering someone else, it is at this three month time frame that it struggles with the option of either being completely alone, detached from the magnetic attraction of what makes love so addictive. Or... does a heart need to discover a connection so pure that all others that may have graced it will be forgotten.

     I never did enjoy the healing process, my heart and head are caught up in a hospital bed, bound with slings and tubes and doctors notes. It does feel liberating to not be so broken anymore. I can feel the bones mending and molding, the sharp pain disintegrating into a numb nothingness. I can get out of this hospital bed unassisted, a few weeks earlier being so unsure of my future to even stand again. My feet have never failed me, i almost feel a raging guilt for ever doubting them or myself. I am now faced with the decision: to excuse ones self from love or be loved unconditionally?

Wednesday, 8 July 2015


I'm sure it's not so bad after a while, sleeping on your own. Once the pillows lose your scent and the warm dent in the mattress misplaces your shillouette. I cannot even force the will to sleep in my own bed, it just reminds me of you. I close my eyes, can almost feel skin on skin. Your gentle embrace.

Desperate for the pillows to whisper sweet nothings upon my temples, "sluggy i love you." Replacing the butterly kisses for zebra stripes, face mapped out by heartbreak.

I starved myself for 4 days, i just wanted to look lovely for you. I spent hours attempting a masterpiece to set your eyes upon. Primed, framed, signed. I cried for what seemed years as my effort was neglected. Watercolour taxi seats and streetlights.

I wanted to inhale your hands, your arms, your torso, your breath. But now its just myself and the thought of you, and how it won't be so bad sleeping on your own.

Tuesday, 4 November 2014

My Babadook.

     There's alot you can figure out about yourself whilst you're curled up motionless at the bottom of a rapidly cooling bathtub, staring at the wrinkled skin around the cuticles of ones toenails. And it doesn't matter how long you lounge, no amount of scrubbing or cleaning or desperate pleading can clean the tarnished soul now living inside of you. You are dirty. No sugarcoating, no softening or dampening. You, are dirty. A dirty soul for dirty thoughts and actions hand-in-hand. You can feel it too.
     I can't stop it. All i can do, is lay in the bathtub night after night and wait for slumber to once again make any form of contact. Minutes turn into hours and hours turns into the bars that trap me inside my own head, and that is where you are waiting. What is a girl to do? Nobody told me that when you are young and scared of the dark, monsters are not the only thing waiting for you to close your eyes. There's something much worse, something else waiting for you to slip into the void between the conscious and subconscious, something that your parents never mentioned in hope that you'd never be forced to meet it, something that doesn't diminish when you reach for the light..... and that monster is known as guilt.
     It eats away at you until you are an empty shell of who you once were, leaving just enough of you behind so noone would even notice you were gone. But now i don't know what to do. I let it in and it's consumed my whole body, i'm stuck in the four walls of my mind, screaming from the inside and all i can see is darkness. And you. I haven't forgotten about you. You're the one who summoned it here and i foolishly let it in, why did i let it in?
    I have never been in this position before, i constantly promised myself "it's not that bad, people have done worse" but i lied and i believed it. This is how it must feel on the other side and now i'm standing here with every single person who hurt me comparing notes and praying for forgiveness. How can i be happy when i keep ruining things for myself? People change, and i am changing, manifesting into a monster which i cannot control. I hate who i have become.

                     I'm afraid of meeting decent people, in fear i'll eat them alive too.

     So i guess all i'm left with is this porcelain cradle and a tanks worth of cold water, minutes will turn into hours and hours into thoughts and flickering eyelids. Maybe soon i'll have learnt how to breathe underwater, just so i can find the words to apologize to you for the monster i have become.

Tuesday, 20 August 2013

What ties me to you is guilt.

You look reasonably happy for someone who is not.

I don't want to die alone and not be found till my bones are clean and the rent overdue.

Crave. 13

Sunday, 4 August 2013

You're tragic, I'm tragic.

I can't believe i continued to respect you, even after you'd taken the food from my mouth.

You starved me for so long, and you just stole the oxygen from my already sunken lungs.

Tuesday, 30 July 2013


And it just keeps on coming. Constant verbal mistakes. Things i say that i shouldn't indulge upon. The cake that you shouldn't taste and share with your friends, but you offer it around like an unwanted animal at a grimey house party. Have your cake, eat it and choke upon it.

Thursday, 18 July 2013


Take me. Take me and fold me into a million tiny shapes. Mold and manipulate me, pushing me through holes and infinite voids. Use me, consume me, break me until my ends are rough with wear.

I'm completely captivated by you.