one moment we’re
singing along to songs in your car
sticking post it notes to your jumper while laughing
taking silly photos and making silly faces
running on the city streets drunk with our arms around each other
holding each other

one moment you’re
shushing me as i cry
licking me to infinity
telling me everything will be okay
telling me how good i am

and the next we’re




remember your birthday? that was the first time we fucked.

today, on my birthday – can it be the last time we fuck?

–what my deranged mind wants to say but won’t

Rapunzel Re-take


There once was a girl named Rapunzel,

She was beautiful and fair.

She sung to the world and beyond,

To the sky, she would constantly stare.


“My dear, my dear Rapunzel”,

The witch was made very aware,

“If a man shall try to court you,

Then you shall let down your hair!”


“But mother”, protested Rapunzel,

“I’ve no use for a silly man!

I have you and that is enough!”

“Ah young Rapunzel, listen to my plan…”


Rapunzel listened and was delighted,

Boredom would be done away!

Mother was definitely clever!

She could use a man who would stay!


One day, he came a-riding,

A prince with a long blonde mane,

Drawn in by Rapunzel’s singing voice,

He rode right through the rain.


“Rapunzel, Rapunzel! Let down your hair!”

He climbed up with much delight,

But when he was through the window sill,

His smile turned into fright.


Everywhere laid the bodies,

Of other noble men,

“This is the only way to make them stay,

Shall you be joining them?”


“Slow” – A Villanelle from 2014


Tell me that you love me so,

That you’ll be gentle with my heart,

Then, maybe, I’ll let you go.


Do we still have a way to grow?

Is this why we must be apart?

Tell me that you love me so.


The sky is dark, it hides the snow,

Let’s first wait for summer’s start,

Then, maybe, I’ll let you go.


Did we not beat our every foe?

Was I too dumb, and you too smart?

Tell me that you love me so.


You’re a lion, I’m the doe,

Remove  from me that cupid dart,

Then, maybe, I’ll let you go.


I love you more than you can know,

If you are paint than I am art,

If you were buried down below,

Then, perhaps, I’d let you go.


an open letter to someone who should have known better.

you had me

you knew you had me

but you decided i wasn’t good enough and wouldn’t let me leave when i told you it hurt to stay.

you held our friendship hostage for your emotional fix, so you wouldnt feel lonely

so i let you walk all over me for what?


i want to say i rejected you. in a lot of ways, it’s true.

but in a lot of ways, you also rejected me.

i made myself more vulnerable to you than you ever did me

i tried to take care of you, to understand you, to support and celebrate your goals and dreams.

(i thought you were special.)

but of course, i was wrong.

you’re made of the same material as every other male i’ve ever been attracted to.

selfish, disrespectful, stubborn, unwilling to compromise, lazy, unable to consider others, always acting like a victim, unable to sort out their shit


as tempting as it is to play the cool one who ‘wins’ and leaves all of this unscathed and unharmed, noone wins.

it’s not me to ‘win’ or to not care. i care too much too deeply and too forgivingly to do that.

truthfully, i tried fucking hard. i was ready to accept your flaws. i was ready to give you my attention and adoration. i was ready to look past all the warning signs.

you had me.

then, you fucked it up.


i’ll have forgotten about you completely in a week. i already feel amazing, liberated, free. i’m a little angry, but it’s already begun to subside.


in five years time, you’ll be laying in bed one night, kicking yourself over what you’ve lost.

completely alone, because you’re both unattractive and a shit person.

i sincerely hope you’ll learn from this experience and that that won’t happen to you, but i’m smart enough to know better. to know that even this won’t incentivise you to change.

because you’re lazy and have no interest in being better.


we were never really friends.

on undeath and the death that is dreaming


I’ll raise the corpses of what we had

into poetry that looks nothing like you or me

with this pen of necromancy and the remaining magic from the remnants of the spark of the connection of the dying undying

the mouth you kissed me with, now oozing and murmuring about what could’ve been

the ground trembling as I see you again and again upon my head, so many times you no longer look like what you once did

you no longer sound like what you once did

what did your voice sound like? what did we spend long summer nights laughing about? what did I learn about you?

I can’t hear it over “all I wanted was to fuck you and that wasn’t good enough”, and “i will only hurt you” and “i don’t care about you”

but voice of this sole mercenary is corrupt and that I know, but it repeats itself again and again and that alone is convincing

“you’re twisted” “you’re a crazy bitch” “you can never be loved”

it’s out of the ground and coming towards me but it doesn’t want to embrace me and kiss me softly

it’s here to claw at me and my skull and my eyeballs until I can’t think or see you anymore

until only this version of you remains

one that I want nothing to do with

one I despise

but I don’t despise you at all.

I despise that we’re dead;

I despise that I’m a master of the undead.

I dreamt of you and we were going down this rollercoaster together but only because we were expecting the world to end soon
and isn’t that a metaphor?
I am so sick of dreaming of you

(you were upset when we hit the bottom, and the world hadn’t yet ended)

upon waking up, I felt that I couldn’t breathe and that I was gasping for air but I knew that there was no shortage of oxygen

I was gasping for you

your touch, your attention, your voice, your forehead on mine and then your lips pressed against me, telling me it will all be better

but I couldn’t even remember what it sounded like and so I tried harder to remember

and i couldn’t, your voice warped and cracked and instead of telling me the sweet nothings it did, it mocked me and it mocked us,
and so i wrote.


and then you told me that you dreamt of me too

that in your scriptures i’m your demons, and i’m your hell, and that to want me is blasphemy to what once could have been sacred

and isn’t that the truth?

your dreams paint me as an amagalmation of awful scary unforgiving punishment
a combination of harsh lies, nails ready to attack, of spite and loathing and hatred

and isn’t that the truth?!

i’m all of those things and more but you still want me

i’m still in the pores of your mind and in the electricity that races from one branch off mush to the other

still ready to pounce on you, laying waiting as you try to run and hide, but it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work does it?

and you hate it but you still told me

you still tell me about your dreams

you really fucking shouldn’t but you do

tell me about your dreams

and by doing so, you condemn the both of us.

you; a lifetime of worship to an idol, a dark bond to a monster
(and me; to play that part for you.)
me; unable- no, unwilling to break away.

day star.

and so there I am, sitting there amongst black suits and meeting chairs

drones of murmurs and indistinguishable agenda

wondering what your middle name would look like tattoo’d on my upper back

or my foot

or my upper arm

or my lower back

or my wrists

my wrists.


I indulge in the metaphor

imagine what it’d feel like to have your name

etching etching etching etching scratching

bleeding scabbing bleeding scabbing black ink.


it would hurt less

needle on flesh on blood on vein.

it’d be ugly and it would feel like hurt

you’re beautiful, and you are the pain


if I could have it tattoo’d on the skin of my heart

I’d be one of those cliches

those crazy people

who do things like get tattoos of names of the people they love.


that doesn’t sound like a problem to me

not at all

they can think i’m crazy

they wouldn’t understand that


i’d slit my throat if it meant you’d love me.


it would just mean hurt

it would be different to the hurt i feel every day

and then

even then

you won’t love me

you’ll never love me


i’ll slit my throat anyway.


my corpse wouldn’t look like me

wouldn’t act like me

wouldn’t hurt you like me

wouldn’t run my fingers down your spine and sing when you kissed my back like me

so maybe





you’ll find my corpse beautiful.


i smile

the black suits and blurred faces and empty white walls see me

a version of me

i will shoot myself in the middle of this meeting table and my flesh will dance on this document dancefloor

and my coworkers will clap for my marvelous performance


a disappearing act of sorts


fading and faded

a vivid daydream not for me


not even in my dreams do you love me

there i am, sitting amongst black suits and meeting chairs