Dead

Love is a living breathing thing. Real love gets harder to come by, the older you get. It takes passion, work, time and dedication. Without these, it dies. I have no more words for you, who allowed us to die.

Mourning

Awaken with a hollow thud, echoes of jagged china peices now rattling around in a fat broken urn that looks like me. Hug the pillow, since it’s all that’s left. Facebook and Instagram show the best version of a moment in time, but if you could only glimpse beneath? The picture looks different. Pillow’s wet […]

Dinner for one.

No coming home, to a loving man and the smell of something good, sizzling on the stove. No chill glass of wine on the bench, no gin & tonic with citrus twists and a straw. You weren’t interested in that, no more. Efforts at togetherness: met with twisty forlorn face and a race to bed […]

That’s how I roll, bitch.

You’re not interested in me. You’re certainly not interested in ‘us’. There is no fucking ‘us’ anymore. You’ve always got something better, more pressing, to do. So, while you huff and puff and hog the bed, blowing bubbles and twitching like an addict coming off a nod, I sit alone downstairs. I’ve been ‘alone’ with […]