Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Your First Message

There is a nervous energy in the air,

a long, lonely corridor,

unfriendly doors,

question marks in blood,

drip down the wood,

flooding at my feet.

I wade in wine.

I stopped drinking for the summer,

because I felt dehydrated.

I had cried the sweetest months away,

and there was nothing left,

but still,

I trek along with typed up notes in hand,

blood leaking into my black suede shoes,

each step, shattering my endurance.

I knocked on every door,

knuckles, sore and screaming,

always running before they open,

because I already know what’s on the other side,

but your door is different.

I don’t knock straight away,

but I don’t run either.

I just stand by your door,

tracing your question mark with my fingers,

the blood still warm,

and you,

so inviting.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

We’re Going To Have a Good Year

I pretend I can’t remember the past,

demons become angels when you don’t feed them your fear.

Mine are starving,

that’s how I like them,

baying for my blood,

with a shady smile upon their lips.

I hold you all night,

and I am not afraid.

Holding onto the idea of our empire,

mountains made of miracles,

stretching out before us,

so far that there are parts I can’t see,

places I cannot yet venture,

but the hope is a bridge,

long, rickety and terrifying,

but stable with each step I take,

in spite of the hungry whispers of my angels.

We cast spells on each other,

you and me,

powerful and pretty beyond measure,

sending sparks shooting across the sky,

like glamorous gunfire on a desolate night,

and I follow the stars,

tracing the stars,

smiling wickedly, at the way they shine underneath your skin.

I hold you all night,

walking bridges to our kingdom,

singing along to the song of your soft breathing.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Last Night’s Dream

Pressed against you,

warm and wanted,

pressure on that little part of my waist you like to toy with.

I am yours to toy with,

tortured in the sweetest way,

contorted,

calling out your name.

I call you,

the next day,

kneeling by my bed,

as if I’m praying.

Approaching you, as if you are a God.

Adoring you, as if I am a lovesick fool.

I am glowing as I sleep,

levitating high above my sheets,

you leave signals on my skin,

and I can feel you,

your fingerprints still fresh,

as I awake.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

A Regretful Acknowledgement of an Offence or Failure

Last night was a blur,

buried beneath blankets and the exhaustion of existence,

I forgot myself,

my function.

I selfishly slept,

without so much as a good night kiss,

or a finished list of my daily duties.

You know I’m devoted.

Dangerously so,

some would argue,

but beds are devious things,

pulling me in,

with the promise of,

“Just five minutes.”

Keeping me captive,

until I drop off the face of the Earth,

reappearing in a rare world,

where the real world is just background noise behind us,

and I am an angel,

blessed with the affection of your ethereal essence.

I have a theory,

that my bed may be possessed by your spirit,

holding me tight,

when I have things to do,

making reality seem like nothing at all.

I call my covers by your name,

disappearing into a darkness that you bring light to,

swimming in dreams of you all night,

scolded by the sun when I awake,

and the bittersweet kiss of your disappointment,

when you find us,

my notebook and me,

naked.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Hunters In The Dark

The sun has barely made it out of bed,

but the streetlights are sleepy and fading away.

I am finding my way in the darkness,

flashlight on my phone,

Mariah on my headphones,

when video game villain strings kick in,

and you appear.

Unmasked,

unrelenting.

It’s never JUST directions,

or the time that you seek,

soon the sickening truth is seen,

glowing,

neon green in the dismal morning.

“I just wanna get to know you.”

You already know that I’ve said “no”,

but you take no notice,

because like Typhoid Mary,

you take no guilt in spreading your droplets,

or disrupting my day,

when I’ve told you,

twice already,

wrapped my coat around my body,

pretended to have a phone call,

pretended my boyfriend is on the way to rescue me.

Still you follow me,

telling me that true love could be waiting in the streets,

when we both know I have it waiting at home,

if I can just escape with my life and patience intact.

Even if I didn’t,

I decide where I find it,

not some man who can’t understand simple things such as

“No”

“I’m not interested”

“Leave me alone”

Your lust is a sickness,

and when I escape,

I scrub my hands until they howl,

even though I’m immune.