You sweat and you shiver so fast for most people to realize.

A pen frightens you.

You let it slip.

I grew up with you attached to me.
You have been burned and cut.
You have written words I would never let myself utter.

I haven’t been careful with you.

You have held significant others within you.
You have held infants.
You have touched every surface that compelled you.
You have wiped tears.
You have held cigarettes.
And you have created.

Don’t let the pen slip.

Have you exhausted your words?
Have you grown tired of them?
Are my thoughts flashing by you and you can’t seem keep up?

Please move.

Surprise me with a reply that is mirroring my thoughts.

Help me.

Reach down my throat and pull out the knot that suffocates me.
I want the chaos within me to move you restlessly.
I will let my body go numb but don’t stop.

Take my mind as a map and run.
Run to every corner and every road.
Dig in the ground and follow the cracks.
Destroy my walls.
Leave more chaos but don’t stop.

Let my eyes guide you whether in light or darkness.

Just please, do not stop writing.

2 o'clock and 47 minutes.

I've been awake at this time for a week now.
I'm laying on my bedroom floor.
I find the ceiling comforting.

2 o'clock and 47 minutes.
My heart is racing and I'm weak.

2:47 and I have forgotten everything I've done outside of this room.

It’s 2:47
My bedroom is filled with smoke.
Forming shapes of soldiers battling over me.
I am wounded I can’t feel my limbs and my head is heavy.
I  feel the vibration underneath me, of feet digging into the ground, running.

It’s 2:47
I am a soldier.
My armour has failed me.
I am bleeding.
I am cold.

It’s 2:47 and all I see is white.
Does this how death feels like.
Empty.
Cold.
Dull.

It’s 2:47 and I'm floating. I see the sky above me, stars are shining brighter than I have ever seen the sun shine.
I foolishly  expected the stars to warm me.

It’s 2:47 and I'm laying next to the enemy.
She’s battered and wounded, too.

It’s 2:47 and the enemy is beautiful. She’s laying next to me. I see her lungs rising and falling and I'm amazed at every shallow breath she takes.

2:47 She’s in front of me.
Her naked back.
My gaze is tracing the architecture of her body.
Her spine, shoulder blades, neck.

2:47 She turns facing me.

2:47 I want her.

2:47 She’s the enemy.

2:47 She is the enemy whose whispers are sharper than a sword.

Her words can flood empires within me.

A touch and I'm frozen.
A kiss and I'm melting in her arms.


It’s 12 o'clock and in 2 hours and 47 minutes I’ll get to see her.

In 2 hours and 47 minutes I'll get to be with her.


It’s 2:47 and my bedroom is filled with smoke again.

It’s 2:48 and she’s gone.

You have started battles within me.

My love for you is a war.

I am fighting the hurt.
The longing.
The depression.

I am fighting, and I have grown tired of battling myself.
Restricting myself.
I am deranged, battered bruised and scarred.

I have grown tired, and I am afraid of the dust clearing up.

I am giving in.

I surrender.

I surrender myself fully to you.
I surrender my arms and let them wrap around you.
I surrender my lungs and only breathe the breath you exhale.
I surrender my lips and kiss the skin that covers you.

My armour crumbles at your touch.
My knees are weak at the sight of you.

You have invaded my mind with everlasting images of you.

You have won.

Now please, chain me down.

Dear Speaker,
You are my keeper.
Keep me from saying the words I am too afraid to say.

Dear Speaker,
I am weaker.
When I speak I do not like what I hear. It’s not whole. It’s not complete.

Dear Speaker,
I want you to stop.
The letters and words you utter do not define me.

Dear Speaker,
Your words are failing.
You are failing.

Dear Speaker,
My throat is swollen with words unspoken.

Dear Speaker,
Do not bother with me.
My silence is not for you to consume.

Dear Speaker,
Ask yourself, what if.

What if the air could speak.
Will it tell stories of last breathes?

What if the earth could preach.
Will it make our ears bleed?

And what if.

What if I could speak.
What if I was able to speak.
What if my throat is not heavy any more.
What if my voice stops shaking.
What if my lips stops quivering.

Dear Speaker,
I would say it all. I would put it all on the table until it sinks in the ground.

Dear Speaker,
Why don’t you listen?

You lay there with him trying not to run away.

Biting your lips.
Trying not to scream.
Trying not to push him, even though every part of you despises him.

His sweaty body on top of yours.
You’re disgusted by his heavy breathing.
Your body is limp, but he’s too self-centred to notice you.
His grip suffocates you.

But my darling you’re not with him now.

You are here with me.
You are a crook an I'm a fool for you.
You are helpless and desperate.
You need me.
You hold me tight.

Holding for your life.

You kiss me as if today and those minutes are all we have left.

I kiss you as you wrap your arms around my neck.
Keeping me close.

My fingertips are digging in your back.
You take a deep breath and hold me tighter.

Our skin moulding together as one.
One beautiful and complete creature.
It dances so gracefully to the music
that we make.
With each breath, moan, touch, and kiss.
You are my drug and I'm addicted.

We live for these few minutes.
Where we are high on each other. Where we forget where we are.
But eventually.
Eventually you will let go and I will too.
Eventually you will go back to him.
Eventually you will go back to being miserable.

Until we get those minutes back.

We are women.

There’s you, me and her.


She lives with her heart on the ground beat, run over and almost dead.

She lies because she doesn't recognize the truth any more.

She let you down, but that’s the only direction she knows.

Shattered pieces of glass left behind. There’s not much of her now.

She fears sobriety.

Her limbs are shaking.

Her bones turning into ashes.


I'm unstable but I'm not broken like her.

You say we’re all the same.

I don’t want to be you. A bore sane and plain.


Let her go.  Leave her be.

For the sake of me let her go.  Leave her in disguise, even though she’s
naked in front of you.

We’re naked in front of you.

We are story lines clashing, each person has their own.

But I'm here to write about mine and whatever I know about yours.

My story line is not yours.

I don’t control yours and you don’t control mine.

But that is not what’s happening here.

I'm not your string puppet.

I cut the ropes and left myself limp.

You refuse to see that the ropes are no longer there.

My grin and your alligator tears.

Your disgust and my dishonesty.

Aren't we perfect for each other.

I'm tired yet addicted.

When the bitter cup of coffee parts my lips, I inhale the freshly lit cigarette, those two combination leave a smile upon my face, pleased and amused of where this story is headed to.