You left me with a click of your fingers,
when I was at my worst you didn't want to linger.
In hospital after attempting to create my demise,
you decided I wasn't worth the hassle; you couldn't empathise.
Until that day, you had said "you and me forever babe"
and made me feel like we had it made.
You'd given me a diamond ring and told me it was love,
but you'd lied and decided that I wasn't someone to think the world of.
You abandoned me at a time when I was broken and fading,
when I truly needed you, you simply left my heart breaking.
And now that I'm happier I'm so glad that you flew away,
because now I know what I'm truly worth - thank you is all I can say.

I saw how obsession led to the rotting of your mind,
and threw you onto the path of madness of a kind;
it all began when he stopped looking at you the way he used to;
yes it all began when you realised he'd never even loved you.

You thought you could win his heart,
if only you could make yourself look like a work of art,
so you dropped six stone and dyed your hair blonde,
everything to keep him from his need to abscond.
And you pierced your nose and got a tattoo,
all because you knew that was the kind of girl he was into.
You became emaciated - a skeleton so withdrawn,
no longer the person you once were and now so forlorn.

I saw how obsession led to the rotting of your mind,
and threw you onto the path of madness of a kind.
Now you're just a shell of a girl I used to know;
a ghost who lost her once golden glow.

The person I see in the mirror is not me.
I hear you say “how can that be?”
The answer is simple; the demon inside has taken my place,
it punches my skin and tells me that I’m the biggest disgrace.
My arms are stained red and my mascara has run like a river,
I discover the monster that's where I should be with a shiver.

How hard it is to really live your life
when all your fears in your mind are strife;
the fears that keep you hidden in your room
afraid to leave in case those fears become realised in all it's gloom.
Like the skies I cannot hold the pressure, feeling so very snowed under;
With my mind in turmoil and at the end of my tether, I'm ready to explode just like the thunder.

A little ball of fluff with eyes so bright,
in a time of darkness she is the light,
little Luna with her loony ways,
so loving; her fiery soul ablaze.

Tiny little paws pattering on the floor,
as she whimpers and barks at me to play some more;
she gives the best cuddles I've ever known,
and kisses my nose, giving me all her love - I don't feel so alone.

My favourite family member by far,
Luna is my little star.
With a heart of gold and a soul so pure,
she's my best friend whom makes me feel secure.

When my victim wakes up in the morning, I am by his side,
he know me all too well so I have no reason to hide.
I smile sinisterly at him and tell him he is weak,
lazy, disgusting and convince him that his future is bleak.
I shriek that he's not trying hard enough;
and I make him feel worthless and rough.
I constantly whisper that he is broken and beyond fixing,
"you are undeserving of love" I can't help but keep hissing.
My lies destroy him beyond compare,
and to my delight he is full of despair.
I crush his world into infinite emptiness - I know it's uncalled for -
then give him a plan and say "ssh baby, nothing matters anymore".
I slowly cut off his friends and family so they cannot save his life,
and soon enough I make him go to the kitchen to pick up a kitchen knife.
I convince him suicide is the only way out of this mess,
and cutting vein by vein he takes his life after a long while of distress.

Oh how I love to sit,
drink tea and to a book commit.
To be taken into a beguiling imaginary place,
where anything is possible if only we embrace.
A true escapism from all of life's horrors,
we become the character's explorers.
It can be a despondent journey across the pages,
as I continually ponder what my life has become for ages.
I realise all the characters that I will never be;
recognise the adventures I alone will never see.
Although, it can be a beautiful experience if we read between the lines;
because we discover who we really are and build on virtues as we read the signs.

What do you do when it comes to the oxymoron
of being tired of living, too weary and weak to carry on,
yet being far too terrified of growing your wings with death
and being too petrified of taking your last breath.

When he caught you staring he would smile
and say that everything was fine, meanwhile
he hid drawings made by a blade under his sleeves
and had stockpiles of "magic" pills, more than ready to leave.

It wasn't until he departed this Earth that everyone recognised
they should've known he was lying, if only they'd realised
every time that he said he was fine,
he was dying inside; oh so confined.

There is always a longing bittersweet
euphoria when I spiral out of control in just a heartbeat;
when nothing is in my hands anymore,
a special kind of freedom that I have longed for.

You are the water to my seed,
you push me to grow, blossom and succeed.
You are the hope whispering in my ear
when my despair is growing near.

You are a superhero in disguise and inspire me
to become a strong independent woman and be the best I can be,
I hope that when I'm older I'm even half as remarkable as you are -
you are the most supportive, caring, beautiful person I know by far.

You are so special to me and every day we spend together is so sublime,
and no amount of seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months or years with you will be enough time.
And out of all the grandparents in this universe so divine,
I'm so glad that you got to be mine.

Despondent people are not puzzles to decipher
and we are not broken vases to be fixed, either.
We are not projects for you to put together
just so you can boost your ego over "saving" another.

Don't tell me you know who he really is in all his madness
until you know the ways he tried to **** his sadness.
Until you know of the blood running like a river down his thighs
from the gaping wounds he makes all the while he cries,
until you see the crimson waterfalls rushing from the veins on his wrist,
as he tries his best to succeed at ceasing to exist.

Don't tell me you know him until you know how he spends every waking moment at war with his mind,
guided by the black dog incredibly prominent; the same darkness that has him so confined.
Until you're aware of his tendency to seek amnesia at the bottom of endless bottles of whiskey,
until you understand that this crisis leads his behaviour to become most risky.

Don't tell me you know him until you know of how he starves himself and strives for perfection,
because tormentors told him that he's not good, thin or man enough - so it's all he sees in his reflection.
Until you've seen him punching holes in the walls wanting the pain to cease,
until you've seen him popping hundreds of pills hoping from an escape from the world, looking for release.

So don't tell me you know who he really is in all his madness
until you know the ways he tried to **** his sadness,
you only see the parts he wants you to see -
you cannot understand he's broken into merely debris.

With golden curls, snow white skin and eyes
full of fervour while sparkling like lightning lit skies,
she was a free-spirited girl unlike any I've ever seen,
who believed in everything and saw the world as it could've been.
She spent so much happiness that she alone didn't have on people who ****** the life out of her,
Still she gave all the kindness that she possessed hoping that one day the same for her would occur.
Then the world she loved burned and crashed - fell apart overnight,
and the light within her no longer shone bright,
she suffocated under all the debris
asking herself "why does this always happen to me?"
and the pressure to be perfect and be everybody's hero broke her in two,
so she sits on the edge of Seven Sisters cliff with her life hanging by a thread, watching the view.
One shuffle forward could send her to her death;
and the excitement for oblivion catches her breath.
The river below screams "head into my waters so deep,
and let me offer you the protection of an eternal sleep",
With unkempt hair, snow white skin and eyes
so lifeless; the world succeeded in their attempt to demonize
a once free-spirited girl - she no longer believes
so she takes that shuffle forward, grows her angel wings and everybody grieves.

Sometimes, she'd run deep into the shadowed forest;
full of breathtaking scenery and abundant beauty so modest,
on cold stormy nights where the wind would wail,
the thunder would roar, the skies would cry and the trees would flail.

She'd throw herself into a pile of auburn fallen leaves so crispy,
looking up at the ripped sky; the darkness broken by lightning so wispy,
and she'd scream and shout and weep in time to the thunder and rain,
until her tears were no more and her soul was cleansed from all the pain,

because in that moment in the woods she and the world were on the same wavelength,
and she isn't as alone as she thought she once was - together with the storm she rediscovers her strength.

Touch me; all without using your hands, I propose.
Strip naked without removing any of your clothes.
Show me who you really are under all the deceit and lies,
and you'll see that from the ashes your true soul shall arise.

I love that cheeky and sassy smile on your face,
and the way you hold me within your embrace.
I love the way your eyes are the colour of earth kissed
by spring falls and how the feel of your touch throws me into the midst.
I love the passion that spills from within you
and the way we connect on many different levels too.
I love that you're the only person I truly trust
with all my darkest secrets; you make things better like magic fairy dust.
I love how you support me in all my endeavours and dreams
and how you're the one who helps me face my demons by all means.

I am undeniably, deeply, irrationally and pathetically in love with you,
and the idea that one day you might fall in love with me too is something I cling onto.

It was once said that we "accept the love we think we deserve",
and I think of you and all the ways you'd shatter my nerves;
when you'd raise your voice or even a hand
every time I did something wrong - a mark on my skin you'd brand.

I was your canvas and your punches were the paintbrushes colouring me in,
painting me in explosions of blue, purple, red; completely covering my skin.
I took the poison you leaked and absorbed it entirely,
calling it love and I thought of you very highly.

I'd just wipe away my tears and apologise for making you mad,
convincing myself that I was the one who was bad -
but really you were the gunman shooting me down,
and the one pushing my head under the water hoping I'd drown.

It was once said that we "accept the love we think we deserve"
and as I sit here reflecting our "love" with reserve,
I realise I thought I was worthy of nothing but your violence,
but now I know better and the compassion I truly deserve is priceless.

Hello you, I have a few things to say,
and although you are downhearted, I hope they make your day.
Your life took a turn and you fell so hard,
but I promise you're not broken but merely scarred.
Soon things will get better and you'll wake each morning with light in your heart,
with a smile that lives forever within your eyes, moulded like fine art.

I want you to know that you're the most beautiful creation I've ever come across,
you are the beacon of light for so many and if we didn't have you, we'd be at a great loss.
You are the one who can go ahead and actually change the world -
a precious soul who can break the mould and change the ideals that have been furled.

Explosions and gunfire wherever you walk,
not knowing your fate as the hands whirl around the clock.
Blood running like a river through the streets of rubble,
body parts scattered around - each one of them has crumbled.

They've declared a war again like many times before,
not caring about the civilians; battle commences more and more.
History is repeating itself time and time again,
it seems as if they cannot from bloodlust abstain.

This is about the innocent lives that'll be inevitably lost,
their precious and innocent souls are the greatest cost.
Their last memories will be that of brutality and threat,
and watching their family die randomly one by one; like a game of Russian Roulette.

Masses of skeletons and piles of bones
will litter the lanes as common as stones,
and their names will always remain unknown,
and as they perish they will do so despondent and alone.

How freeing it is to fall through the sky,
the rush of adrenaline as you begin to fly.
Flying high like a bird once you've jumped from a height,
eyes closed and arms spread out in the midst of the moonlight.

Feeling breathless as you near the ground,
wind flowing through your hair feeling like the lost being found.
Not knowing how this leap could end,
neither caring what'll happen as you continually descend.

What a hero our dear Michael is, plus,
a blessing to each and every one of us.
A beautiful soul enlightened with devotion,
he makes my world brighter spreading light in waves like an ocean.

He's someone who would die to protect another,
he puts us all first like he's our big brother.
He was there when I tried to end it all
and he picks me up every time I fall.

The one person who never gave up on me,
the one who matters the most to me, I wish that he could see
he's a main source of inspiration in my life,
and my admiration for him really is rife.

I wish he could see just how special he is on this Earth,
and I want him to realise just how much he's worth.
He will get all the good things in life that he deserves,
because all good karma comes to serve.

No two seashells are the same;
but then, to be invariable would be a shame.
To be unique is a gift you see,
to be you is the best way to be.

All seashells are grouped together in the sea and onshore,
their differences are irrelevant - their worth is the same at the core.
Some are able to float away from distress,
while others merely sink under the pressure I must confess.

Some are captivating and beautiful beyond compare,
while some are unpropitious with signs of wear and tear.
Yet despite their differences each one has an admirer,
and whether whole or broken each one is a survivor.

No two seashells are the same, it's true -
nor are two humans invariable - let this message get through.
To be unique is a gift you see,
to be you is the best way to be.

Between us there is an unbreakable bond;
something tying us together that goes above and beyond.
When I was young with wild hair full of excitement,
you were the one I looked to for enlightenment.
You were my hero who made my bad days good again -
the only one whose hugs and kisses took away my pain.
When I grew up and made mistakes big and small,
you held my hand and helped me stand tall.
You picked me up when I was upset,
and knew how to make me smile no matter my mindset.
You've always been on my side even when I was wrong,
and you've been the influence that has helped me grow strong.
In a world so brutal you remained a beautiful soul
you are an exquisite creation; graceful as a whole.
And please understand, if I never had you there for me,
I wouldn't be half the woman I turned out to be.

I wake in the morning and dread the day ahead,
it would be much easier if I could go back to sleep instead.
It is better than the torture of my disorder;
the voices in my head don't ask me things nicely - they're always an order.

My fear of vomiting is detrimental,
so the acts that I carry out are fundamental.
I do not leave the house; germs could get on my hands,
I always find an excuse for not participating in my friend's plans.
My hands are red raw and sore
from the excessive scrubbing; it's become a chore.
I have to put sanitiser around my mouth too,
otherwise my mind goes crazy - unfortunately that's true.

When exposed to a vomiting bug,
I completely stop eating and take an anti-bacterial drug.
I count down forty eight hours
before I can eat again; this is the extent of the phobia's powers.

When somebody mentions they feel unwell,
I avoid them like the plague and it feels like I'm in hell.

I think of the future and of the children I desire,
but the idea of germs and sickness around them is a taunt so dire.

I worry about vomiting every single day;
causing panic attacks and mental breakdowns - I want to run away.

People laugh at such a "silly" terror,
but for me it's a life-changing and deleterious horror.

How tragic it is to be in such despair.
To have to pretend like I just don't care.
Sitting in bed with tears running down my face;
thoughts of suicide are in place.
I cannot see the point in fighting anymore,
I wish to heaven I could soar.
I'm nothing, worthless, a failure, a burden,
my future is very much uncertain.
I'm not brave anymore; I have no courage,
I've been broken into a million different pieces; it's caused much damage.
And who would want to save someone who doesn't wish to be saved?
When this dark monster within has me well and truly enslaved?
I think I'll go now, it's time to say goodbye,
I will make my way to Heaven now; into the blackened sky.

You were enthralling, enchanting - and I never stood a chance,
you were mysterious, enticing and you had me in a trance.
You were the mystery I never dared to have solved,
the enigma of my life around which my world revolved.

Depression, for me, has never been the essence of beauty,
it's about cutting too deep like it's your duty,
and staying up until 4am crying your eyes out
feeling too weak to carry on and wanting to scream and shout.
It's about seeking amnesia from the end of bottles after drinking away the pain;
and sometimes it's about attempting suicide time and time again.

I'm sorry this world became so unsafe,
that you are now in an indefinite sleep,
that by evil you were strafed,
that your family and friends will weep and weep.

You always put a smile on your family's face,
no matter how sad each one of them was,
You are someone they can never replace,
the laughter lines on their faces? You were the cause.

The day that you were shot and slipped away,
Your mum broke down completely and was in absolute shock.
Your parents wept and thought of you every minute of the day,
you didn't deserve this end - they wish they could turn back the clock.

You should have been getting married,
but now you are in Heaven above.
Now in a casket you shall be carried
and they will cry for you again and release a dove.

I promise now your spirit is free,
and I promise that you won't really be gone
as you will live on inside of your family,
and for your justice they will keep fighting on.

Today I introduced myself to my mum again.
Knowing she has no remembrance of me caused a lot of pain.
It’s harder now than ever because with time
She’s lost 98% of her memory and is losing more as the clocks chime.
But I went in and read her favourite book as I held her hand,
and to her I sung her favourite song by her beloved band
knowing it would put a smile on her face
as with love my heartbeat grew quicker pace by pace.
I asked her “may I have this dance?”
And we waltzed around the nursing home garden taking a chance.
I did all this because although her brain is fading away,
She is human and she’s the only one who’s loved me always.
Now it’s time for me to visit and look after her each and every day
so that she’s never alone as the end is on its way.

My desolation fuelled demon drove me sinisterly to the edge,
“dying by your own hand is the only way out” it alleged.
So I walked to the bridge over the M25 and stood inclined.
Then I jumped- but halfway down, I found I’d changed my mind.

I stare at the veins so prominent on my wrists –
think of the sea of blood rushing through my body with lots of twists.
The cold metal blade I am twirling in my hand
screams to be used to cut open and release the ocean of red – I don’t quite understand
why I want to bleed out and become a sinking ship or consent myself to die.
This desolation has me wrapped around its finger and the monster of destruction I must abide by.

Somebody please tell me why I miss someone who has hurt me so much.
Unforgivably and unlawfully has he treated me – and demolished my life with his icy touch.
So why do I miss him with this ache in my stomach and with tears in my eyes?
O why O why? When he caused my childhood’s demise?

I convinced myself that you were my missing puzzle piece,
the only one I needed to be entirely complete.
But then I realised I was wrong, you couldn't commit,
and I cannot force pieces together when they don't fit.

The storm came bounding over me with clouds of uncertainty
and howling winds of change like an entity.
Water droplets of despondency drowning me with every bead;
Mother Nature herself cannot stop this blizzard – for it is a clandestine storm, indeed.
Nobody is going to rescue me from this typhoon –
my struggle through this torment will become my greatest triumph soon.

All she ever wanted was to be loved the way she loved everybody else day in and day out;
She desired to be craved and she didn’t care how; she’d do anything to get that love without a doubt.
So all the boys took advantage of her fragility and broke her into pieces until there was nothing but residue left about.

O how I wish for an escape from all this trauma surrounding me;
Sometimes I wish I could disappear forever and never come back; just flee.
Discover the world in all its glory and forget just who I am,
And forget where I came from; anything to not care or give a ****.
I crave to become lost somewhere unknown to me and explore –
Anything to not have to live my own life or be me anymore.

He was the brightest star the world had ever seen,
but no star can burn bright forever, although that was unforeseen.
He was a man who brought joy to all those around him,
so that he never had to show them how his life was grim.
He made them laugh until their stomachs hurt,
even though inside he was full of despair, sadness and disconcert.
Like a clown, his smile was painted on,
only when he removed it did you see the wretchedness in his deep blue eyes; that’s when it dawned
that he was a slow dying flower,
fading petal by petal and losing power
until the day he’d been poisoned enough by this ghastly world,
and he died once and for all by his own hand – that’s when the truth of his life really unfurled.

And we all like to compare the past with the here and now,
but there are only certain memories that we will allow.
Like how “remarkable” our childhoods used to be,
compared to adulthood now where “everything has turned to debris”.
As in a state of reminiscence we remember things in the most positive light
and in the greatest form so our memories of the past shine bright.
But we forget that nostalgia is a deceiver to you and me,
because nothing was ever as good as we like to remember them to be.

I've fallen down the rabbit hole again,
into a world of my own full of pain.
I am not Alice and this is not wonderland,
so please don't be fooled or misunderstand.


Everything is a blur and my head is spinning;
I fear that this is just the beginning.
This creature's whispers are disturbing,
declaring revelations that are most perturbing.


People say that I am as mad as the hatter,
and their cruel whispers really do matter,
because if I really am as insane as they say,
I feel I should be locked away.

Who Am I?

Am I the mistakes I've made?
Am I the scars made with a blade?
Am I insanity?
Am I the bad side of humanity?
Am I the inches around my waist?
Am I supposed to be easily erased?
Am I the imperfections I see every day?
Am I the monster that tried to take my life away?

Or...

Am I the books I've read?
Am I the love I spread?
Am I the dreams I've made?
Am I all those kind words I've said?
Am I the bright light in a world so dark?
Am I the bonfire spark?
Am I the creativity I emit?
Am I the hidden soul and spirit?

Who Am I?

My emotions are obstreperous once more,
I cannot think straight; this sensation I abhor.
The impulse is too strong and the relapse is near,
it's racing through my bloodstream - that alone is clear.
It's screaming at me to be released quickly,
and the anxiety building up is making me feel sickly.

I reach for the blade after four months clean,
why to myself must I be so mean?
It burns and stings as I drag it across my wrist,
every sin and feeling is freed into the midst.
This is yet another battle that I have managed to lose,
another fifty wounds leaking out a red sea and I have lit the fuse.

You treated me just like a cigarette
and thus became my biggest regret.
You ignited my soul beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before,
but then you gained everything you ever wanted; so you ****** the life out of me more and more,
and then you reached the end and finally you happily threw me away and left me to burn out on the floor.

How strange it is to think of how every single person has experienced this day in a multitude of ways;
that not one person has felt exactly the same as anyone else or had an exact experience today, will continue to amaze.
A few, young and old, are taking their last breaths as God takes them away from earth.
Some are bringing into the world more beautiful souls as they spend their day giving birth.
Several have just experienced their very first kiss and are high on love as they dance around their room,
while more are lying in bed, crying silently as their hearts have been broken by the person they thought would one day become their bride or groom.
A number have had the most optimal day of their lives; they’re in a good place and couldn’t be more content,
whereas others have spent their distressing day writing out their suicide notes wondering how best to say goodbye without causing too much torment.
Yes, how strange it is to think of how every single person has experienced this day in a multitude of ways; that not one person has felt exactly the same as anyone else or had an exact experience today, will continue to amaze.

There lies the difference between you and I,
the reason you're exuberant whereas I want to indefinitely say goodbye;
I let my past define me for all this time
but you only learned from it and moved on; so sublime.

I snap elastic bands around my wrist
as retribution for craving food; eating I must try to resist.
I spend hours in the cubicle purging everything from within,
this monster attacks me from inside and ignites beneath my skin.
I cry when I look in the mirror and see my grotesquely fat reflection,
and my cheeks are red and extra puffy and I have a pale complexion.
I weigh myself at every opportunity that I get,
and if I haven't lost a single pound I break out in a sweat.
I exercise and exercise until I feel faint and dizzy,
and run around abstaining from eating by keeping busy.
It's sleepless nights with painful tummy twinges,
writhing in discomfort and filling the air with screaming whinges.

And it's dealing with comments like "you don't look like you have an eating disorder"
because I am not stick thin, no - I am a normal weight and on the other side of the border.

A complicated virtue and misunderstood,
trust is overlooked by many - which is no good.
We emotionally invest into the hands of others deeper and deeper;
unknowing of whether they are capable of being a secret keeper.
Our worlds can come tumbling down with just one betrayal,
and once it's gone? It's lost forever - something that cannot prevail.

I cannot help but think of the time,
of the hours ticking by with every chime.
I can't help but notice all that I haven't achieved,
the minutes and hours always have me deceived.



I often ponder all the books I have not read,
of all the things I have not said.
I contemplate all the songs I have not sung,
and of all the slips of my tongue.




I muse over all the people I want to be,
over all the places I want to see.
I realise I'll never acquire all the skills that I'd like
because time is always ready to strike.



I think of all the time I've spent surviving
instead of living; all the times I said my dead soul wasn't worth reviving.
I feel that I have wasted precious years
simply drowning in my own tears.




Time is a mystery and must be well spent,
we should all remain focused on the present.
Take our dreams and make them happen,
otherwise our lives will become meaningless and misshapen.

As Plath once said, "dying is an art"
and just like her it is something I'm good at by heart.
You see, I've died not once or twice but fifteen times,
always by my own hand; sometimes by rope and sometimes
by pills stocked up to the max - always dying
and also always, to my own misfortune, surviving.

You cannot undo
what you have already done.

You've made your bed,
which you must now lie in.

And the worst thing
about your perfidy?

While I lay here in night-long laments,
you are lying tranquil in her embrace.