I wrapped her, in red ribbon. I breathed against her skin, and heard her thoughts crashing against the inside of my skull, like bones clicking when stretched too far. She ached. Though I didn’t know why. Nor could I ask. Not yet. Her eyes changed colour with each mechanical snap of the lens. A flash … More She Bled Red Wine
In the aftermath of the tippled boxes come undone; ribbons untied, and words scraped from corners of a pale skinned mind, unrefined; do I say I am sorry? When I was just a girl, in dresses printed in sunshine and sewn together with trust, I learned that words mean very little. Unless, they cause an … More Boxes Undone
There are moments when we feel loss, in a way that ravages the outskirts of even the boundaries that we have set for ourselves. In the next breath, we can swim through love, as though it were a kind of sickness, that tears through the lungs and leaves you choking on its depths. I have … More Souvenirs of Yesterday
For years I have known that I am not doing what makes my heart beat the way it is supposed to. I am good at my job. Very good at it – but by no stretch of the imagination am I passionate about it. I am a digital marketing manager. I design magazine ads and … More Anxiety Filled Determination
Some days, I spend the whole day feeling like as I walk, as I move, I leave behind a slight heat signature. A trace. Evidence that I was there. Like my mind is bleeding. Like my dreams and the bad things in them have found a way to come out. I miss time. Time misses … More Get it Right
You hold the messenger of death hostage, close to your chest, against your pale skin. When there is a knock at the door, you’ve the leverage to stop him coming in.
Part One “Fuck.” Emily Marshal whispered under her breath, and lowered her head as if defeated. “Miss Marshal? Emily Marshal?” The freckled faced podgy woman behind reception spoke. “You can‘t leave, dear.” “I have changed my mind.” Emily stated, still with her hand on the door, and her head bowed. “Oh dear.” The receptionist frowned. … More Waiting. Short Story Pt 2.
She sat on the edge of the sofa, her fingertips nervous, conscious of the frayed seams, worn upholstery and dulled paisley print. The ceiling fan squealed as it spun, and the humidity in the room was oppressive. Her blouse clung to her with sweat, and she could feel a bead of sweat run from her … More Waiting. Short Story Pt 1.
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.
Remembering you, is like placing my lips on a heavy bottomed whiskey glass, filled with tiny sharp shards of a broken mirror and tilting it into my mouth. Slicing my tongue, the same tongue that licked the blood from your lips when you fell into my glass desk. Tearing at my throat, with a familiar … More Let Go.