Posted in Blog


Building dreams on my balcony,

breaking and rebuilding myself,

breathing smoke,

in and out,

as the sun sets,

my drink follows her down,

until my glass is empty and lonely.

I lift her anyway,

out of habit,

letting her coolness balance on my lips,

as my balcony dreams swim beneath me,

in the cool waters of my ambition.

Posted in Blog

Ella at The End Of The World – Episode Seven

Read more of Ella at The End Of The World

They’re dead.

We got there, and everything looked normal. They live… they lived in a remote area, and it just looked so… normal. Mum’s house is one of only three on the road, with just a little corner shop for company. The whole place was so quiet, empty, eerie.

Martin had insisted on bringing his crossbow. I can remember first seeing it, when we moved in together. It was just casually hung on the back of his bedroom door, as if it wasn’t a deadly weapon. It was there, all the time, just staring at me, and it, along with the knives scattered around the house, and several bats, always made me nervous.

I was nervous as I put my key in the door, both despite, and because of the crossbow. The house was creepily quiet as we stepped inside. Martin insisted on going first, sneaking through the hallway, peeking around corners, like they do in horror films, and I followed behind, as quietly as I could.

Mum was in the kitchen, motionless on the floor, her red hair, framing her face. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out. I felt sick, but thankfully, nothing came of that either. She looked frightened. She looked so frightened. Her beautiful face, frozen in fear, a few splotches of blood across her pale skin. Aaron didn’t look frightened. Aaron looked hungry, knelt over her body, his hurried hands, in and out, in and out, drenched in blood.

I didn’t even see Martin move. I was absorbed, overwhelmed. My mother’s face. The blood. The sound of chewing, over and over, louder, louder, louder.

Aaron turned, and for a second, I thought he looked frightened too. His blue eyes, gone, red and full of rage, but the rest of his face, so familiar, my baby brother, so lost, so frightened. Then, it was over. The arrow pierced his head, and he fell, motionless, like Mum, on the once white, but now red kitchen floor.

Martin pulled me away, until they were out of sight, but I could still see them, hear them, even, all the way back to the car, all the way back to the border, all the way to wherever we currently are.

Chewing. Over and over. He was eating our mother. My little brother, who spent most of his life shovelling pizza into his mouth, while he played Xbox, was shovelling my mother’s flesh into his mouth, that never seemed to stop chewing. Chewing. Over and over. An endless, torturous hunger.

I don’t want to sleep, but I don’t know if I can avoid it.

I hate him.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

1 Day

Maybe I hold onto you,

long after you’ve left,

so that I’ll always feel you’re mine,

never having to accept that I’ll lose you again.

It’s easier to ignore the reality,

of life and it’s sickening cruelty,

if I just close my eyes,

hearing my inner monologue in your voice,

kinder tones,

kinder times,

no suitcase in the hallway,

just two pairs of shoes,

that know,

deep in their soles,

that they are soulmates.

There are knocks on my door,

a frightening thunder,

that gets closer,

the further you get,

I barricade,

with each thing that you said,

because though I could let them in,

and be loved,

at long last,

they would never be you.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Everything Changes

Ten days,

Two hundred and forty hours.

I allow myself to drink delusions,

under the covers,


thinking about how everything is changing,

except my helpless, hapless hoping.

young women chilling on bed with laptop and coffee

I have slept a little,

wept a lot,

your name lives in my dreams,

a curse that calls to me,

and I sleep,

to forget.

human eye

I thought I didn’t make you happy,


watching the cards fall,

walls free themselves,

words fail.

I am on the moon,

staring down at myself,

self destructing,

down with the ship,

down with the system.

woman wearing brown shirt inside room

Everything changes,

everybody changes,

except the mistress of mistakes,

who always goes back.

photo of man leaning on wooden table

I thought I didn’t make you happy,


I don’t remember happiness.

I wouldn’t recognise her,

if she sat at my bedside,

begging me to run away with her.

Our mirrored tears,

would not move me,

and everything changes,

pieces parting ways,

playing new games,

but I always remain,

under the covers,