Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing


I wrote to a therapist this morning.

Detailing my drama,

that I playfully play off as diva behaviour.

I think,

what I really want,

is to be affirmed,

for all the maddening sadness to be heard,

confirmed and then confined,

to weeping pages,

airtight cages,

where it can’t follow me.

I used to want to be rich.

I’d dream of golden rivers,

private jets and rivieras,

but I don’t think any of it would make me happy.

I used to want to be happy,

but I don’t know that I know how to do that,

and I told them that (the therapist),

but I don’t know that they know either.

I wrote to them,

to say that I don’t know how they’re supposed to fix me,

but I’d like them to (I think),

but maybe it will be just like my golden dreams,

where I wake up,

one day,

in a cold,

confined room,

to a cold,

confined life,

and realise that there’s no such thing as fulfilment,

or happiness,

just a slow,

delusional road,

that always has the same destination.

Posted in Blog

Solitude Is A Solid Ally

I want to be free,

but I chain myself to pain,

in case it leaves me.

She has always stayed,

lonely on my window sill,

chains around her neck.

She is not ideal,

but she is complex, constant.

Maybe, that’s real love.

Posted in Blog

The Noise

I don’t want to die, by any means, but I have not really enjoyed being alive, for quite some time.

I feel like I’m on a constant track, that deviates, in a sense, every now and then, but never to a place that makes sense, just to a noise.

I know that makes no sense, but this place, is a noise. A long, constant, deafening but quiet noise.

It’s a noise that wraps itself around me, demanding my attention, demanding resources I never had, demanding energy I don’t know how to give, and I try.

I try to give the noise what it wants, but it deviates, in a sense, always asking for something different, before I’ve even began handing over my offering.

I don’t want to die, by any means, but I think that’s what the noise wants me to do. I don’t want to die, by any means, but I think the noises that pull me in so many directions, until I’m hysterical and frayed, would like me to.

Posted in Blog

Dream, My Darling

You’ll never learn to be happy,

because you’re happiest when you’re heartbroken.

It just brings something to the surface,

a cynical siren call,

that you can’t resist,

and you will make the same journey,

so many times,

on just a few hours sleep,

and a few cigarettes,

shuttled between scenes that all end the same,

because you’re at your best,

when you’re self destructive.

You’ll never learn to be happy,

but you’ll learn to pretend,

when the situation requires it.

Smiling will always feel unfamiliar,

but you’ll find room in your back pocket,

for a book of excuses,

that explains away the unnatural way you go from distant to dream come true.

I wish I had better news,

but there’s a lot going on,

and you’ll still always feel like everything happens too fast,

that you don’t belong,

that life is better when you live in stasis,

slowly slipping further into sleep,

until it is all you can do.

You may as well,

because you’ll never learn to be happy,

and the world never learns to be exciting enough to keep you awake,



my darling,