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,



Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing


Last time,

you took a souvenir,

as you left.

I was asleep,

eyes closed,

not seeing you steal,

segments of my soul,

sweet and serene,

wrapped in the brightest days.

photo of a woman sitting beside statue

You walked into the night,

no goodbyes,

no route back,

you go back,

to being alone,

barely alive,

staring at the small part of my soul,


wilted and wounded,

the brightest days,


photo of woman sitting on floor

You ask the air,

if I still miss you.

Nobody answers,

everything echoes.

You haunt me,

and I hate you,

until I don’t.

greyscale photography of woman wearing long sleeved top

I dared myself,

to hold my fate in my hands.

After midnight,

mixing drinks,

mixing emotions,

meeting the door,

under the moonlight.

woman wearing eyeglasses in grayscale photography

One shoe out,

before you awoke,

arms around the dream we had,

holding on,

to something you can’t commit to.

woman sitting while looking lonely

In the midst of missing me,

you sob,

in a circle,

alleviating your addiction,

for just a second,

before you fall back in,

and I forget myself.

I can never tell,

if you miss me,

or miss the way that I love you.

silhouette photo of person holding door knob

Don’t ask me,

where my heart resides,

as if you don’t know.

I keep the key,

to the rest of my life,

around my neck,

but it’s just jewellery,

to me,

because you are my home,

even when you’re gone.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing


I was on the pier,

playing my part in filling the ocean,

collapsing under the chaos of home,

bound to return,

but broken at the thought.

For a moment,

for the very first time,

I was alone.

There had never been a voice,

or even a familiar, friendly hand to hold,

just a promise of forever,


guiding light,

that surrounded me,


it suddenly went out.

My devotion,


as I bled into the beach,

begging for the space to breathe,

for believing to be easier,

for just a second.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Disappointed, Devoted



I drown my sorrows,

in dark fruit cider,

a dramatic Luis Miguel playlist,

and a bed that is so used to my heartbreak,

that it has learned how best to hold me,

so I don’t entirely fall apart.

I can’t remember who I was,

before becoming your plaything,

and though I strengthen as I sleep,

awake in dreams where I am enough,

to satisfy myself,

I always fall back into the next day,

weak and weeping,

waiting for you to want me again.

Held in my heartbreak,

comatose and crying myself in and out of sleep,

wondering what will become of me,

if there is nothing more.

There is just enough of me left,

to be disappointed again,


but who knows,

after then.


Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Summer Nights

The summer nights are long and light,

I used to love them,

sitting with the sun,

but now,

the never ending daylight won’t let me rest,

keeping me awake,

and aware,

of how solitary the summer becomes,

when my heart is a hostage,

that can never come home again.


one day,

the sun and I will sit together again,

but by then,

I will be scarred,

softly spoken,

a new kind of broken,

with nothing sweet to say.