I push it too far,
find myself trying to take back words that have already stained the air between us.

But I Still Remember

when everything was perfect,
until it wasn’t.
when we were bestfriends,
until we weren’t.
when our ‘I will’s
became ‘I won’t’s
when our first fight
became our last.

I know you’ll be fine without me, you were before.
But I wish you wouldn’t,
I wish that I was more than a fleeting passion
A flame bursting into being, rather than a candle sputtering out.

You have changed me
and for that
I hate you


My life is caving in;
And I can’t tell what is unreal, anymore.

You give someone a piece of yourself,
it gets returned broken, in crumpled wrapping paper.

A Note saying:

Like you’re a garment they can keep in the wardrobe,
Bringing out one day and realising they never really wore.

What do you do, when you
don’t fit
Into somebody else’s master plan?

And what do you do when you
lost yourself
somewhere on the road?


Friday’s Fiction: Part 1.1 [Warning Explicit Language]

I walked between the oppressing mahogany doors, taking a deep breath and composing my face into a scowl. They like it better if you scowl. I aimed for the high-backed leather chair, designed to make you feel uncomfortable, trapped by it’s arms. Instead, I slid into it sideways and flung my legs nonchalantly over the armrest. These guys sure know how to do dramatic, luckily so do I.

I assumed a bored expression, inside I was starting to get anxious. Studying my nails I surreptitiously took in the shattered coffee table – the one my lovely colleague had taken home a souvenir of – and blood spatter that looked suspiciously like arterial spray. Maybe I had more to worry about than I thought. I dismissed that thought as quickly as it came, I’m their favourite operative, at least I keep telling myself that.

“Quite comfortable are we?” I jumped at the voice, I couldn’t process why it had came from behind me. “My dear girl, you are losing your touch. You didn’t scout the room as you entered.” A figure materialised at my shoulder, clearly the mystery speaker had been hiding in the recess behind the door. Reluctantly I turned to look at them.

I took in the planes and valleys of his face, my heart hammering in my chest. A stranger, a stranger that I felt I should know. He was beautiful, in a purely technical way. The slant of his cheekbones, like razorblades, and the deep green of his eyes were enchanting. Get a grip Girl! A Beautiful stranger in the Boss Man’s office can only spell trouble. I immediately tensed and stepped away, he stepped forwards.

I was trapped.

Regrets, everyone has them.

I went to a wedding the other day, so you know what that means – getting suited and booted, and plastering on a smile with superglue. You’re not allowed to be unhappy at weddings.

So we’re all waiting in the church, I’m on the Groom’s side near the front, though I don’t particularly know the couple. Not as an entity anyway, I know him sort of, not her. But I think I got to know her that day. They’re both around about my age – yeah I know quite young for modern society.

As we all stood for the entrance of the bride, in between two of the bridesmaid coming down the aisle, a young(ish) man slipped in quietly and took a seat at the very back on the Bride’s side. I thought that was a bit strange, almost like he was sneaking in, and he looked unhappy to be there in the first place.
All was revealed when the bride came in, the look of utter anguish and longing on his face and the slight stutter in the Bride’s step when she saw him [things I think everyone else missed, so entranced they were by the bride]. It was obviously a case of love lost, but I didn’t want to come to conclusions too soon, though I guessed either the he’s been invited out of courtesy, rather than any real expectation, or he’d heard about it and needed to see it happen.

I might have been imagining things, but the bride seemed a bit restless after that, not quite as happy as she should have been.

A bit later on, he came over to, I assume, congratulate her, or maybe just stir things up a bit. [Yes I sound like a stalker, but I was curious]. It nearly broke my heart clean in two, their expressions and the way their hands lingered on eachother, briefly enough to be missed by a non-stalker.

Yes, I know, Groom’s friend technically, I should have had a different reaction, but watching Bride and Groom closely, it was clear that the same depth of emotion just wasn’t there. All relationships are different I know, but when you can look at two people you’ve never met and see their love as a palpable thing, it seems to outstrip the true relationship/union playing out in front of me.

I can only guess whether this will cause problems for them in the future, but it’s very obvious that there’s some regret floating around.

Everyone has regrets, but some are more extreme than others it seems.
Not even sure why ~I posted this, I just needed to share I suppose.



He had been awake for days.

Madness was starting to creep into his bones and the night sky beckoned.

Lifting his scarred and abused body from the concrete he stumbled towards the stairwell. Falling against the door, he shoved back his hair, braided in an impenetrable rope down his back. Climbing up the stairs he walked past friends and strangers alike; some getting to know each other too well. The smell of bodies and alcohol cloaking him in a fog, muddling his mind. He needed to see the sky.

The girl was there, where he’d left her, what must have been hours before. Her blood red hair pooled around her head. A mesmerising pool. He realised she was a sign. Leaning over her, he roughly pressed his lips to hers, feeling the chapped skin and exalting in her imperfections.

“Thank you, my dear.” he whispered.

Stepping up onto the ledge, he stretched his arms out to the heavens, breathing in the night itself. He took the first step of the rest of his life.

He’d reached for the sky, and touched the stars.


i. I have a friend, who lights up my life.
And she is not perfect; far from it.
In fact, she is a disease, crawling in my heart.
My heart can’t take much more.


ii. She comes to me, in her best dress and highest heels;
too high on her own existence to meet me half way.
I’m afraid that she is broken beyond repair.


iii. She is imperfect, the image of beauty,
The personification of sin,
I’m not the only one to have looked into her eyes and lost it all;
She can create a universe in a sentence, a world in a sigh.

iv. Her elixir is neat alcohol;
her home, a stranger’s sheets.
These strangers that she collects, piece by piece.

v. I wanted this to be a reflection, of how I think she’s perfect.
Her flaws are exquisite,
her lips and hips,
were made in dreams.
But I think instead that I am twisted,
for finding beauty in a creature as heartless as she.


vi. She finds herself in the blue coolness of a late night,
where sweat and whispered nothings cocoon her from the outside.
She is sex, and she excels.


vii. She is broken and tainted;
She makes you want to be too.


viii. She,