curled-up flesh

Pain.¬†Drowning ¬†crinkle-cut curled-up flesh in whitest milk.¬†Obligation lifts the cup, pours it in. No foil-wrapped magic tricks want to have anything to do with it; the capsule sinks below the surface before it can ignite. Flickers as a match might, but with the untiring power of the glowing ember. No end in sight. The worst days were better, because hope was still cradled that the broken parts could be cut away and mended, dead branches and grafts. But the poison is in the tree and eventually there will be nothing left but dried parts broken on the forest floor. All … Continue reading curled-up flesh


So drained. So overwhelmed. All I can think about right now is how I don’t have any pictures of Olive and me together. And now there will start to be pictures of Olive and The New and Horrible One. And that really, really depresses me. There is something both hilarious and terrible about being in tears for most of the evening while a movie called ‘LOL’ plays in the background (the French original, not the Miley Cyrus remake, for the record). Here’s hoping my face isn’t too puffy for interactions with Camilla Lackberg tomorrow. Because apparently my current tactic in … Continue reading drained


pink is the colour of bare, fresh skin not yet ready to be touched by the airs and the graces of the world it is the colour of strange hair bleached and stained in a fit of madness again and again until it defines the unloved pink is the colour of love and of hope a thousand cards for mid february sent between lovers with soaring hearts the colour of childhood for half of us at least dainty shoes and socks kicked about tossed asunder for nobody wishes to be so constrained pink for pain for madness for heartache for … Continue reading raw

stolen from us

when minds have changed filtered through years and whispered words grown to believe in goodness in the dark grown to believe in letting go and moving on and leaving the lost behind sitting on a bed in a room in a faraway place where the people who once were there have been stolen away and all that’s left is that void to curse into that the future and friends have been stolen from us Continue reading stolen from us

another cliff

her hope is her lifeline and she clings to it so tightly hands calloused with fear and with uncertainty each day he wears away at it little by little the marks show as tiny scratches on arms and legs the day she realises there is no hope will be the day she is released and behind her hair will stream on the wind as she plunges gracefully into the depths and onto the breeze Continue reading another cliff