Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

A Coffee By The River

I am going to meet you by the river,

as the sun sets,

and the moon settles into the night’s sky.

My nails will be black,

chipped and coloured outside the lines,

and I’ll wear that black and red dress that you like,

so you’ll know that I dressed up, just for you.

I will wear enough lip gloss to share,

new necklace for you to fixate upon,

my skin, soft and strawberry scented,

your name, all across it, in the ink of your kisses.

I will not be held in your lonely hands,

but they will know that my body longs for them,

my soul will speak,

in a frequency only you can hear,

and though we will be two meters apart,

two people together, but parted,

you will know that I am still yours.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing


Send me stillness.

Quiet piano and the sound of the wind.

Don’t play too loud.

Don’t play at all.

No movement,

no more moments of panic,

just seconds of stillness.


Echoes of my nightmares,

fading with every second,

until all I can hear is the air,

asking how I’m doing,

soft rain in the gutter,

undisturbed train tracks,

telling me how good it is to be alive and alone.

I tell them about my heart and all her troubles,

my madness,

my inability to fall in love without becoming Jodi Arias.

She is sympathetic (and maybe a little scared),

smiling and silent,

and I think that sometimes,

that is all I need.

Just a little stillness.

Just a little silence.

Just a little stability.

Just to step on the ground and not feel it moving, for once.

I want to stay,

but my voice is still,

and my eyes are drowning.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

The Door Is Locked

The door is locked.

Your soul is stained and scarred,

staring with envy at the bright white of mine.

My soul shudders, shakes with fear,

because I was just supposed to be in and out.

I was never meant to stay,

you know.

I was never supposed to stay.

Just a quick visit,

then back home,

but the door is locked,

and evil is evolving before my eyes,

prising the purity from my cold, almost dead fingers.

You weren’t even supposed to notice I was here,

but now your lens is red,

and I am headed somewhere horrid,

with bloody handprints all over me.

Never happy,

never meant to be,

but never given the opportunity,

to tread a different path,

because this was always where I was going.

I was never supposed to stay.

Just a quick visit, and I’d be on my way,

but I’m still here,

covered in blood,

soul, stained and scarred,

eyes, glassy and gone.