when one is born
with a vial of poisoned love
already clasped in their hand,

when one is told to drink from this
never ending vial of poisoned love,
told by those who surround you
and love you,

when the memories that came after
drinking from this vial of poisoned love
are the only memories you have,

how is one meant to leave the addictive vial of poisoned love behind them?

how is one meant to go searching the dusty shelves filled with other glorious vials,
looking for an escape from the cage of the alchemist?

»a.n.o’h.

Hear the storm,
Acknowledge the waves,
Embrace the piercing cold,
smell the salty sea.

See the water crashing
against the hardened shore,
Feel the raindrops of tears covering your body,
baptising you in the realm of your soul.

Only then will you be able to go forward.


»a.n.o’h.

words are words. they can be simple, funny, powerful, dangerous.

But yours, your words are worse than danger.

They are thick with poison. Thick enough to form a rope.

This rope latches itself around my neck every time you release your army of poisoned words at me.

They haven’t killed me yet but every time you hurl them at me, the rope tightens and  chips away another part of my soul.

i’ll be gone soon.

»a.n.o’h.

i knew my ability to trust was crippled the day you first lied to me.

it was always “i promise to stop the drinking” or “i promise i’ll cut down”.

i watched you turn into someone i would’ve never recognised had i walked past you on the street.

i watched your addiction tear you apart for the last 19 years and i couldn’t do anything to help.

i listened as your empty promises turned into another night of being drunk and falling everywhere and bloodying yourself.

i watched as you started to forget.

i watched as you learned your favourite phrase of “i don’t remember” when i would recall our favourite memories together.

i listened as you began to tell me that you are an example of what to avoid becoming.

i listened as you said things that no parent should ever tell their child.

i listened as i disregarded every mistake you ever made and trusted you each time another empty promise escaped past your lips along with the smell of alcohol laced with your breath.

you watched as i began to build my walls up and shut everyone out.

you watched as i, too, became unrecognisable.

you listened as i stopped caring about everyone and their little lies.

i watched as you had completely shattered the glass that held our bond, without even noticing.

i hate myself because, despite everything, i still believe your empty promises.


»a.n.o’h.

i was never one of those children to believe in monsters under my bed.

luckily for those kids, their monsters weren’t real and disappeared at the feathered touch of comfort from a parent.

every monster i encountered was someone i knew. someone real.

so real that their existence is still here, in the shape of a sickly cold shadow in the corner of my memory that oozes the events of the worst battles i have ever faced, drowning me.

real monsters aren’t the ones we see in movies or here in books or tales.

real monsters are the ones who promise to protect us but treat us way worse than anyone else ever could.

»a.n.o’h

my roommate, dread.

i have a roommate in my head.

their name is dread. i can’t remember where they came from. they just arrived one day and never left.

we don’t talk. i don’t think we ever have. i’ll be honest. i don’t like dread much. whenever they come out from their darkened, cold, sad room, they bring this intense aura of stomach illness, loneliness, anxiety, stress and depression. they stay around me for a while, spreading this aura all over my head until it is almost unbearable. then they leave. back into their black abyss and lock the doors.

i’ve tried to kick them out. tried to explain it’s not working out, us being roommates. they just promise to be better. it works for a while. they’ll leave the home that is my mind for days, even weeks, at a time. i always wonder what they’re up to. i can’t help but feel worry. i worry about their safety. i feel a deep sadness when they leave.

because even though they bring me such misery when they’re around me, i can’t help but feel comfort when i know that dread is still here and just a few feet away locked in their room. maybe one day i will be able to move on and break free from the shackles that dread has on my life.

»a.n.o’h.

i often hold hands with the moon.

i call on her for comfort and guidance
and she extends a shimmering branch down to me

almost like a stairway to a permanent escape from my reality of despair.

she doesn’t say anything.

the silence between us is loud enough to power a stadium and somehow
we understand each other like i have never understood anyone before

she knows me better than i know myself.

she knows the way i only call on her when i am desperate yet she doesn’t seem to be upset.

her embrace feels like the warmth of the sun on a hot summers day where the trees are resting and scattered loose paper lays still.

i often hold hands with the moon.


»a.n.o’h