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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

He's searching for all that will destroy him and everything he knows;
anything that will help him forget the trauma and the surrounding despondent shadows.
First came the shots of ***** and the little white pills he'd swallow each and every day,
then came the self-tattooing of his skin using a thin and sharp silver tip in every which way.
Soon it was the rush of taking an ****** cocktail in the hope of drowning out the violent voice in his head;
and staying in bed for days on end, wishing to be nothing; to be neither alive or dead - but to be a nonentity instead.

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.

I saw the burning embers in his eyes,
the light produced could fill a hundred skies.
He's a natural wonder in my world
I thought as the galaxies in his eyes swirled.

I notice the dimples in the corner as he smiles,
and my heart tells me - for him I'd walk miles.
I told myself I'd never fall in love,
but as I watch him laugh; I realise it's him whom I'm in awe of.

It's the way he talks about his passions,
that makes me feel this mixture of emotions.
The way he hums, the way he reads a book,
I can tell I love him - it only takes one look.

The way his eyes crinkle as he laughs silently,
makes my heart flutter and my stomach beat wildly.
The way our hands become entwined
makes me feel free and well refined.

The way our lips meet?
Nothing can compete.
Fireworks and universes explode between us
and the feeling they brought to me? I can never discuss...

Hunger brings about the finest euphoria throughout my brain;
the control and power I feel is addictive – something I must maintain.
Waiting to be weightless; stopping at nothing to become thin -
the cruel voice in my head rips me into pieces from within.

A bloodstream full of tragedy,
I'm a walking travesty.
Bones created out of despair,
I often wonder whether I'm beyond repair.
A mind full of sadness and skin full of poison,
the desolation within me has arisen once again without reason.

My heart is so tired of being in pain,
it tries to stop beating – an effort that’s in vain,
so I am left, once again, barely surviving
instead of feeling alive and truly thriving.

Your past is creeping up on you after all of these years,
you wish it would stop because all it causes is pain and tears.
But the darkness is the burden of all that is true;
all the things that have hurt you have made you YOU.

So many times have you lost your heart
to the detrimental work of the devil's art.
With eyes like clouds that won't stop raining,
you can't stop the pain flowing through your veins; how draining.

You're as fragile as a butterfly's wing,
and I know you're hanging by the thinnest string.
But you are here. You are brave. You are alive.
And you're going to make it through the storm and survive.

A burning flame flickering,

an emerald colour shimmering,

with a smell of earth and trees;

and on my fingers is the soft feel of wax melting with ease.

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.

I looked at the time, it was seven o'clock,
we were having a party and I was in my best frock.
We were partying away - my friends and I -
dancing around in the moonlit sky.

Drinking away I was starting to feel funny,
when my friend Harry said to me "come in, honey".
Drunk, I followed - I trusted him dearly.
He was going to look after me, I could see it clearly.

But soon I found out that he actually wanted me,
and as he got on top of me, darkness was all I could see.
He lifted up my dress and pulled down my knickers,
and as he did what he had to do, all I could taste in my mouth were liquors.

I told him "no" and told him to stop fiercely,
but instead he carried on and laughed in my ear harshly.
He ****** himself deeper inside,
as he chose to ignore my cries.

I couldn't push him off, he was too heavy,
all colour drained from my face and I began to feel empty.
He was high on drugs and alcohol fuelled,
and he carried on throughout the night until he was fulfilled.

The next day I woke up ****** and feeling *****,
I was covered in bruises and I was full of worry.
My lipstick was smeared and my hair full of knots,
and on my body there were scratches - lots and lots.

Now I'm sitting here three months on,
I've been dealing with this pain alone for far too long.
I swallow the hundreds of pills I've saved up,
and wash them down with alcohol from the drinking cup.

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.

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.

Night time; the foxes dance in the pale moonlight,
with their beautiful black eyes shining bright.
The wolves howl towards the night sky,
singing a sublime song through each and every cry.
Owls hidden in the swaying forest trees,
watching out for their prey, solemn and at ease.
This is the wild and it's a beautiful place,
one that humans should learn to embrace.
- cowritten with Maddison Perry (9 years old)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Moonlight; just enough to illuminate the silhouettes creating the forest -
just enough to help the sky glow; a black ocean freckled with stars, so modest.
With tiny chimes in the distant wind of the flickering trees
signalling the beat of pure white galloping hooves heard over the silent breeze.
A myth? Perhaps. Or, more believably, the strength of the woodland?
She casts a playful spell upon us all with her charm easily, as if planned.
Wild and free, full of purity and innocence; she brings excitement  
and is a reminder to never grow up but stay full of enchantment.

You have a heart made of beautiful gold
and a soul of stardust that'll never grow old.
There are sweet galaxies within your eyes
and your scars are constellations better than the sky's.
You're a walking universe so wonderful and sublime;
someone who'll remain important across all space and time.

Let me be brave* I say as I become the hero I need in my own story,
as I try to save myself from the demons in unknown and dark territory.

I'm a poppy made of dried metallic blood; bitter,
wilting and fading in a never ending winter,
my lifeless petals falling like brittle carmine confetti so solemn
upon the grass where a newborn papaver rhoeus will begin to blossom.

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.

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.

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.

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.

What is love?
Handing over your impuissant heart to someone who could break it in a heartbeat?
What is love?
Falling in deeper - though irrational, crazy, irresponsible - we do it to feel complete.
What is love?
Convincing ourselves that it exists; that our soulmate is in waiting?
What is love?
Acting in ridiculous ways while their expressions we are analysing and translating.
What is love?
Throwing all logical decision making skills down onto the floor?
What is love?
Allowing a single soul to disturb and influence every moment of our lives more and more.