like an old friend
turning up at the door
after years
and nothing had changed
death whispered in my ear
like a lover
I arched my back
in sensual delight
and whispered the words
like I could feel
the knife
sliding in to my heart
and I groaned aloud
at the imagined
pleasure of it.


The question

There was an invisible
line I crossed
somewhere back there
where this game
became real, the stakes
ratcheted up, forfeit no
different to all-in loss.
I crossed that line because
I didn’t know it existed
wouldn’t have believed if I’d known
thought always you can
turn back. You can’t.
I bet my life
didn’t know I had
and lost
didn’t know you could lose,
didn’t know I had lost until
much, much later.
No excuses. Time to pay up.
Disbelief. Anger. Bargaining.
Life wasn’t supposed to be like this.
But who said? It was
always more serious
than I wanted to believe.
Yes. You can lose.
Yes. It can cost you everything.
A bit of fun. I was a
drug-runner’s mule, smuggling
love and hope and free-hearted
love-making into a country where
all of these things carry the death
penalty. A country of trauma
victims and narcissists, sociopaths
and cynics. They’ll take you in
with a smile. Oh, your heart? How
pretty. Thank you, it’s adorable.
You shouldn’t have. Your life belongs to me?
Well, I’ll take you up
on that, don’t mind if I do.
Well, no, sorry, but I mean it:
really; here’s the knife; sorry
but I do insist. You promised.
Your life.
If only I’d known,
that first needle;
chasing a butterfly across
that line. Nothing so pretty
could be anything but innocent,
surely? Or lead me anywhere bad?
And the stories,
the fucking stories. Love
melted the hardest heart. No
sorry, the hardest heart took
that angel and fucked it
up the arse, and was
already bored by the time
the broken pieces of
that cherub slit its own
wrists. Was already annoyed at
the mess, and forgot about
it while picking out a jacket
for tonight’s party before
the blood was dry.
Love is the answer and
the question is, what is the
stupidest thing people will
do of their own free will.
The question is, how much
pain is there? The question is,
how to get the condemned to lay
their necks peacefully
on the block?

I can still remember when I didn’t feel this anguish.  When a day was just a day, boring or exciting, or maybe with some small or large upset.  Life was good because it was supposed to be good, things would work out, love and security was there all the time.  Is it even possible to feel that way again?  I’m through the looking glass, the world has changed, the air has changed colour.  The daily rhythm is a cycle of pain and struggle and acceptance, love is a traitor and hope is a stranger, and l breathe longing like I used to breathe air.


It’s a magical incantation
a vital rhythm
the slowest heartbeat in the world
but the most reliable
one hour
each pulse lasts
once a week
and in that rushing
of life’s blood
we soar.
The iron law
forbids three things
that forbidding like
a pentagram drawn
in salt creates
the space for


It’s not about dying alone.  You were right, everybody dies alone.

It’s about this moment right now.  At 4am.  2am was just as bad.

It’s this aching emptiness between my arms, where my lover should fit.  This parched feeling on my skin, like every nerve ending is straining outwards to meet a touch that isn’t coming.  The barrenness of my tears.  Meaningless sorrow, here by myself.  Nobody is coming.  I am speaking to no one, crying out to no one.  It doesn’t matter that my desperation ratchets up a notch each day.  It doesn’t affect anyone but me, and I’m just an unheard voice in an empty space.  It doesn’t matter what the words are where there’s nobody to hear.  It doesn’t matter what’s written when there is no reader.  It just doesn’t matter.

Continue reading “Loneliness”


My love for you
is like a child
innocent and trusting
fresh and full of promise
in its eyes all the wonders that
could be;
approaching the wedding party
with a bomb strapped to
its chest, coming to us
for help and salvation
trusting we will save it
and I must give the order
to shoot.