Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing


You were a gift,
given to the undeserving.
Failed by everyone who found you,
helpless and hurt,
sleeping, still, after it ended,
as the fingers began to point,
alibis and excuses forming from thin air.
All those adults,
running from one narrative to another,
chasing their own escape,
never accepting that it would have been so easy to care, when they had the chance.
Sweet child,
who suffered so much,
you were a gift,
given to the undeserving,
painted in your pain,
as the endless night goes on,
and you wonder aloud if anybody loved you.
Your cries were heard,
far too late,
by far too few.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Iris Bentley – Another Victim Of British Justice

There is a lonely room at the back of the house,

an empty chair at breakfast,

a path that lays dormant, never walked because he never got the chance.

Time stopped when he left,

I know you didn’t feel it, but I did.

There was a part of me,

torn from my soul,


tormented by rope,


because somebody made a “mistake”,

put in place by a longing for revenge,

a lack of empathy…

“Oh sweetheart,

don’t you see that SOMEONE had to swing,

to keep the world turning?”

I hear that,

from lips that don’t even think I deserve an explanation,

so they don’t speak,

but I see it,

I hear it,

I feel it,

in everything you do.

I see it in the way you look away when my mother cries.

I hear it in the way you are silent when the time for a reprieve comes.

I feel it, when nine o’clock comes, and I am at sea, sinking in the tears of the many nine o’clocks, and all their misery.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, politics, Writing

Drink It Down

I’m powered by pain,

that’s sponsored by Pepsi.

I’ll throw a brick,

with a brick blood manicure,

and my sensible shoes,

will suffocate my suffering.


I’ll hold your crimes above my head,

as I steal your streets,

until my arms break,

and your tangerine toddler tweets.


Lock me up,

hose me down,

I’m waterproof,

and I’ve drowned too many times,

to let you hold my head

at the bottom of the bath.


I am the dream he had,

we are your nightmare,

and your flag isn’t big enough,

to cover all our corpses.

Baby Steps
Darling, Desperate, Dismal Girl

Amor, Amor

“Baby Back There” from Ours

“Window Shop” from Ours

“Beach Walk” from Ours
“Baby Blue” from Summer Of Love
“The Bride Wore Blood” from Ladylike

An Open Letter To Miranda Larbi, In Relation To Unicorns
Thought Provoking Stories In Your Horror Movies? It’s More Likely Than You’d Think!

Get To Know Me 🙂

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