Lessons about life from the terminally sick

Help. Help. Help… Kill me. Kill me. Kill me… the words repeat again and again and again, mingling with the medical beeps and clashing sound of televisions and radios blasting up and down the corridor.  I swore I’d never just walk past a room where someone was screaming, but after 3 months working in a…

The shoe box of not-letting-go.

My childhood room is full to bursting. Odd socks, long faded jeans and a thousand scraps of the past I can’t quite bear to throw away. Tacked to the mirror is a grainy polaroid of me and my sister, gappy toothed grins on Grandpa’s old boat. There is a scratch map of the world that…

The Village

I’m home. After four years of dancing until 6am and walking home in sunshine, cramming for endless exams in the creaking, soft lit library and wrapping myself in a holey blanket to watch Planet Earth with a packet of biscuits in each hand and a bottle of wine on the table, I have returned to…

You turned me inside out

  Many different men have claimed to love me, Caressed my curls and held my body close. But you’re the first of them to ever know me, Sifted through a thousand fakes to find me. Look, I wasn’t good before I met you, Nor bad, just lost and acting all the time. You turned me…

The Black Hole

The Black Hole was never born in space, Among the stars or down below. Nor on a craggy mountain edge, Though pounded by an ice-cold wind. Lonely like the sun-bleached bones On a sandy plain that’s long forgot. Hurting like the splitting rocks, That shriek out-loud as they turn to sand. The Black Hole lies…

forget you.

I have to forget you. I just can't bear to think. Of how a toothpaste grin Met my blurry eyes Across the grubby bathroom sink We can't talk anymore. I just can't bear to think. Of how you'd hold me tight Like your raggy doll My tentacle toes on your skin I don't cry very much.…

The evidence of you

The evidence of you, Is written all across my bones, Etched deep inside with sharp-edged flint, And it aches when my breath goes cold. There's a chip in my bedroom paint, Where your picture tacked to the wall, And tea stains on my crinkled sheets, From breakfast way past afternoon. I catch you in a strangers scent, On the…