Suck it Up.

Thin hairline fractures, that lay submerged in anger; long enough that they swelled into gaping holes. To go over them, would be like navigating the latitude, and the longitute and the gravity and the declination of something already dead. Our past lay dissected on an autopsy table. The rib cage of what was exposed for … More Suck it Up.


I have ligature marks on my ankles, from the rope that I use every day. I fasten the weights of observed pain and of of expected guilt, of spoken sorrow, and of your mournful shame to my dulled and tired body, and I climb into the water again. I don’t want to drown. I don’t … More Manotonous

What Colour?

Paint me a picture of my blistering shame. What colours would you choose to show the pain? Would your hand be steady and heavy and meticulously planned, or would you just tip and pour and not even use your hands? Paint me a picture of the torture in anguish I feel. What colours would you … More What Colour?

Empty Seats.

The cold crept in, like dry ice on my own private stage. The performance of a life time, to be danced in the dark, with only empty chairs; frayed and a dull worn out burgundy, all numbered. Lights off, and just the beat of a half remembered tune in my mind. No grace in this … More Empty Seats.

Love and Hate

I like NYC yellow taxi cabs. I like London phone booths, even if they smell like piss on a Friday night. I like rust on fences and drain pipes. Just because, I do. I like fishnet stockings on other women, nearly as much as I like the way it sounds when you rip them. Intentionally, … More Love and Hate