Comments that don’t make sense. 

Late night, almost next day. 

Thinking a lot. Thinking too much?

Excited but scared, loving but hating, tired but awake. 

Two posts, one day. But let’s pretend this one’s for tomorrow, because I’m already in focusing on that day. 

31%. The amount of effort I put into preventing the invetiable? My phone charge.

80%. The amount of effort I wish I’d put into preventing the inevitable. It’s inevitable, don’t waste your resources.

1st since 11.

Friends. More than before. Real friends. More than before. Satisfaction. No comment.

Cold feet, spotty socks.

Rain. Open window. Old school Taylor Swift song. Peter Pan.

Tomorrow. Happy birthday. The day before Pancake Tuesday. Happy birthday. Refer to 1st since 11. College. 11:40. How many birthdays?

Tea tree oil. Scar. Illness.

28%. The amount of effort I’m putting into writing this? My phone charge.

Messages. From people that care? About you, or themselves? Both. Neither.

20 minutes. For this post to still be valid? But it isn’t valid.

Random numbers, random words, random thoughts. My thoughts. Right now. 

You won’t understand this, but maybe someone will.

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drink me.

She reaches for it.

It doesn’t so much as say “drink me” but it taunts her nevertheless.

This will be it. Her last drink. Again. Continue reading drink me.

Something that can only be described

I think I’m learning more about myself. I’m learning how to navigate the mind map which has baffled me for the last sixteen years and although I’m nowhere near taking the shortcuts and venturing down the back alleys, I’m beginning to trust these main roads.

Sometimes I get so lost in my own thoughts that I confuse what’s in my mind with reality. A ten minute bus journey is all it takes for something to trigger a particular thought pattern and an entire series of events that are severely unlikely to happen will unfold within the depth of my mind. What is this? My imagination? Because I was taught that your imagination would help you design that story that your English teacher loves, but what I’m talking about just can’t be forced. Continue reading Something that can only be described

Burn out.

Too many people allow their thoughts to be constructed from sharp objects; knives and swords. Too many people have lungs corrupted by hatred. Too many people spend their time existing rather than living.

Our problem is that we aren’t grateful for what we have: half the world are left starving whilst the other half are trying to lose weight. Our thoughts race at three am, when we ought to be wrapped up in our sheets rather than the words that never left us. Continue reading Burn out.

Swing

Early evening, the sun sets. Dark silhouettes invade the pink sky. Coating the swing with paper, but the water still seeps through.

Swing.

Complain about the friends and gossip about the enemies. Whisper tales of the past and scream stories of the future. Sneeze, cough, laugh.

Swing higher.

Let’s talk about why bad things happen to good people. Let’s discuss why the people with the most promise are often thrown life’s biggest hurdles. Tell me why the greatest people in this world rarely ever notice how great they really are. Continue reading Swing

All or Nothing

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Photo courtesy of Matthew Smith.

You play me like a game. I’m a pawn in your chess match and you change the rules as we go. But, like a fool, I’m in too deep and I’m blind to the Game Master’s corruption.

“You’re in this. All or nothing.” But all and nothing seemingly fits much more appropriately. I’m risking it all and I know I will win nothing.

Like a chip, I’m flicked away again and again as you hope for a better deal, unsatisfied with these cards that you’ve been dealt. I’m trapped in your slot machine and I’m dizzy as I spin.

But, darling, this isn’t Monopoly and I’m not your “get out of jail free” card and I don’t owe you any rent. You can’t decide to mortgage me and you can’t decide to trade me for Park Lane.

I’m not your pawn to move as you please and I refuse to abide by your rules as if I’m dictated by your disease.  Gone are the days of manners, “no thank you” and “yes please”. I can see through your disguise but can you hear through my cries? This is no longer a no-win situation and I refuse to fall victim of this state of stagnation.

Continue reading All or Nothing

Hourglass

The sand spills through your hourglass, but I’m not listening. I cannot bear another moment knowing that soon you’ll run out of sand and all that will be left to utter is “goodbye”.

Our time is slowly withering away and I hear it only as a scream. You were my rock, and I should have known that all rocks turn to sand. Continue reading Hourglass