Scrub me down to the bone Nothing but splinters Nothing but fragments Of the girl scared to think scared to dream The battlements in her...

To leave something untouched, unspoken. Is this judgement driven by a fear, a logic- calculation? No action (or rather, inaction) seems...

It's a sort of sickness no one can see. Invisible to the naked eye. Take your bloods, check your temperature, shine a torch down your...

The only way to describe A mother not for you Is a cosmological headfuck A field of sunflowers, Immeasurable differences. As is nature,...

The sentiment of keeping your pillows hugged tight at night. The softness you accept of the rain against the glass of your window. The...

On sin-strewn soil she scampers, a flitting firefly upon the long night. Through frosted-brittle bracken and frigid grasses green her...

Do we ever know what that something is? That adjective that’s utterly indescribable, that verb that can’t ever be put to work, that noun...

Tragedy. Do you feel how truly awful it is? Do you not feel embarrassed? Do you not feel… at least the slightest bit awkward? Or like you...

Under frigid tides, love’s last joyous lungful escapes, so finally, passion’s carcass may sink. Bound to a heartstrung anchor, we drift,...

I am happiest when the sun shines or when I see you, though those feel one and the same nowadays, as your presence feels as warm as the...

Is our shared time ineffectual? Is this an unrecognised personal fault? Or is it you, avoiding an insect on your bedroom wall; one you...

a polished coin glimmering in the cerulean sky, gazing fondly over the glittering azure blanket that rustles and foams beneath. murmuring...

You are, An allegory become, For the great skies above, Bathed in pollution, Raining acid on your tum. You are, Venus’ paragon, Mistaken...

Eyes fluttering open, I woke up beside him with his face close to mine. I sighed. I’d given in to the argument yet again, crawling back...

This October the nights are long, my nights are drawn out. It must be soon until the sun brings with it my purpose. O, for when it cries,...

We flee to the bedroom, the study, the café; hounded by foreseen fears. We don the writer’s robes and gaze pagewards, deep into...

Never be ashamed of overthinking and over-feeling, it is a beautiful thing to feel. Sensitivity is precious, don’t lose it. Those who...

With whose stolen pen is it my hand writes? On my page, where art and theft lie so blurred: From an unlived life, rich with unseen...

There is a rigid tugging. The metamorphis must arise, Soon we must emerge, ennobled, Out the swaddling of our homes. Liberation awaits us...

Confined to our homes we wade in liquid time. Its brackish tides lap at our limbs and refresh our egos, though we’ve never a drop to...