What about the paths that tears take?
What about the furrows blood makes?
What about the roads lazy fingers take down spines
What of the goosebumps that soft whispers raised?

And the spaces between fingers, that were filled?
Glances that caressed, lips that swilled?
Quakes of pure adrenaline, and aftershocks
That undiminished, each encounter instilled?

No, you can still feel invisible stains
Some things seep deeper than cloth and flesh
And marks fade, but impressions remain
That with a perfunctory glance, refreshed
Some lessons are learnt with naught gained
Some pills you swallow to no relief
Sometimes you smile, and laugh, and work,
And you grieve, and you grieve, and you grieve

Some hurt, some bruises go all the way in
Not all scars show on skin






Almost at the end of NaPoWriMo, one day to go.

Chin up, and Cheerio chin chin!


His Kitchen Window





His Kitchen Window




His kitchen window always held the strangest appeal
Probably a bit because it was the only place
In his house where we could smoke
And not worry about
his aunt smelling us, it went right out
The view of the alley and the squashed vegetables
Where that crazy girl would screech back at that
Other girl with Down’s
It was the oddest, loudest, quiet place I’ve been
The boys would be in the bedroom, debating
Pros and cons of gaming strategy
Often, we’d skip class and head straight there, just to be free
Of any authority for a little while
And that kitchen window made a good perch
We’d look into the trash can and know exactly
How many beers he was running on, or
If he was running low
There was beer practically in arm’s reach anyway, you
Could see the shop from the window
It was a bubble of stasis, we’d come by even
If he’d gone out
Make ramen in the kitchen, make out
Fall in love over and over again
Discuss Liverpool’s abysmal performance,
Have existential crises
And then he moved away, our idiotic best friend
I swung by the place today, it
Was already leased
It’s funny though, how sunlight and
Smoke and love in a kitchen window
Can leave you with such
Oddly specific memories…


Day 27 of Napowrimo. Just.. Missing a friend and better times today.

Cheers, you guys. 🙂 


storm sky


Who do I hold responsible, for this summer’s sky’s rage
A fortress of clouds, imprisoned storms in a cage, of
Trapped vortices of fury, pinpoint pillars of shame
Teetering columns sway, against lights aglo, inflamed
By the whims of the sun, dropping groundwards in repose
The clockwork mechanisms undone by this sudden, grandiose
Bellicose display of temper, the winds mutinous, belligerent
Contentiously buffeting the trees, threatening, wild, truculent
While the thunderclouds swell ominously, pushing to burst in their bondage
Who do I hold responsible, then, for this summer’s sky’s rage?



Written for the Doubles prompt, Day 15 of NaPoWriMo. 
Here’s to riding out the storm. Cheers. 🙂

Lotsa wuvs,

Bedside Manner

Bedside Manner 

It’s a bit odd, is it not, 

Trying this clinical approach to thought 

Instead of guided by feel

Analyze where we stand, like


Watching the oceans congeal 
The valleys fester, 

Mountains erupt and forests desiccate 

Like the whole world is being slowly, decidedly

Drowned in hate

Like bodies pile up, discarded refuse of a 

Lifetime of bad decisions, like a 

Series of broken hearts, inspissate, and 

Torn winged crows mourn from black crags 

Hidden out of reach of hand and teeth 

Burnt ground and ashen sky, and testament 

To my approach to you

Goddamned clinically 



-You see?

Nothing wrong at all 
I can give you the five year plan you want 

In these splashes of blood on the wall 



Day Thirteen of NaPoWriMo. Not a prompt, but I’m not sure what else, either, lol. 
Horses, not zebras, Gang. 

Just Another

Just Another 

There are so many creases in this room 
Creases in my pillow, creases where I cried 

Knots in my bed that watched me try

Sometimes half heartedly, sometimes intent 

To die 

Cracks in the floor that I’ve felt against my face 

A gap in the window where, on some days, 

I saw the only sunlight I saw at all 

Mercifully enough, I spent only a few days 

Of that sort, within these walls
But suffering leaves marks, just like age

And the objects in the room, like my body 

Bear signs of my bouts of impotent rage 

And really, in all this time, nothing has changed

-except how I see them 

See past them, and myself, and the self pity 

Life is painful, and beautiful, in the grand scheme of things 

And I’m just another nameless girl, in a room

In some house, in some city 



Day Eleven. The prompt for today was a poem that’s a bit of a description of something trivial, but a bigger life picture woven in at the end. No idea wut wut, bit tried it out anyway. :p 
Cheers, you guys! 

Dream Psychology (My Apologies to Freud) 

Dream Psychology (My Apologies to Freud) 
I don’t suppose you could put

The meaning of life in a nutshell

– the meaning of life in a bookshelf, though… 
Seems an entirely plausible venture 

After all, you can only study human anatomy 

Best, in the city of bones 

It’s not even tunnel vision, in 

Keeping with the fundamentals of physics, when 

You focus solely on that, of mice and men

– and what then? 

A treatise of biology? 

The surgeon, the apprentice, the fallacy?

The third twin, the imposter, a philosopher’s stone

Seen through a golem’s eye, a man made of stone 

Lemons and lemonade, defiance 

The Bible, the Quran, and Science

The ideal woman, Karl Marx- a feast for crows 

The art of war, the centaur, and selected prose 

Salome, Wuthering heights, the picture of Dorian grey 

The haunting of Alaizebel cray?

-Whose image can I find? 

What is the sum of these stories,

The damned recollections of all lost

Human kind? 

Nested upon each other, dimensions, ideas 


The meaning of life is hidden here, in this

Wooden house of pomegranates 

Day Ten! Today’s prompt is to make a poem out of the titles on your bookshelf. My apologies for the higgledy-piggledy write! Got a bit tough, too many textbooks. And nothing about ISC Mathematics is poetic! 😕

Not Feared 

Not Feared 

I always wanted to be loved

And a little feared 

Or at least intimidating 

The kind of girls who hear, oh

You don’t want to mess with her, so

Commanding, riveting 

Instead of, as my sister says, 

A teddy bear/dumpling 

And agreed, it’s a bit hard to be

Taken seriously 

When you’re shrimp sized 

And squeaking, “Fear me!!”

So I gave up on

That particular ambition 

But I still wanted to be loved

A little desperately 

Did the people pleasing bit

Learned that most are inherently bitter 

Use and throw is the world goes

Kindness doesn’t too much better 

But the thing is, Fate has fickle moods 

And I found real love precisely where 

I never even hid my worst attitudes

I suppose we can never predict what’s

Coming to us, ever 

Go figure, I didn’t get ‘loved’ or even 



I got revered 🙂 



Day Nine of NaPoWriMo. Today’s prompt is a poem that’s a bit of a confession. 
-Or just another excuse to smile about all the things I have to be grateful for. 😋

Cookie ❤️