Tag: mental health


She burnt away, rotting from within
Until all that was left was ceramic skin
Perfectly painted with only one crack
Just below the knee, a hole of deep black
The only blemish on a porcelain doll,
Showing inside she was nothing at all
But empty and hollow, full of dead space
A vacuous vacuum with a manufactured face
No love in her heart, nothing in her head
AnaMia’s glassy eyes already felt dead
But she still smiled a fixed, painted grin
Because now that doll was finally thin.

Via Daily Prompt: Thin


I have a concrete body

And a restless soul,

A rib-caged heart

And lungs of coal.


The tide changes

In my bloodstream.

Ruffled heart feathers

Screaming run, change, move.


Via Daily Prompt: Tide


There’s something in the way you move that reminds me of him. It flickers across your face and changes you. Momentarily. And then you are back.

I wonder if it’s co-incidence or if my masochistic subconscious latched on to it as we fell in love. Worse still, I wonder if you picked it up from me. If I’ve been unwittingly carrying him in the way I hold myself.

It scares me sometimes in a way I struggle to explain. I have to remind myself that bad people have good traits too. And that some bad traits wore the masks of good ones and I shouldn’t hold the good ones responsible for that.

But it’s hard.

When you say, How was your day? What did you get up to? I hear, You better have a good excuse for not being here today. And you better not leave again any time soon.

Abuse can wear the face of concern. And now both of them give me chills.

Shit: An ode to Anxiety

There are so many people
Everything feels out of time
It messes with my thoughts
And messes up my rhyming…

Shit. That’s not quite right
I know I can do better
Words scramble in my brain
I can’t settle on a…

Shit. What that word?
For one alphabetical member
I’d communicate my meaning
If only I could… not forget?

Shit. They’ve all leaked
From my brain into my chest
There’s no space for air
I need a place to… sit?

Shit. That’s not it.
Is this some kind of test?
The walk home, alone
Gives my brain a rest.

In the cold air of December
I start to feel much better
Do you think they will remember,
When I misplaced a letter?

When I lost my rhyme?
Do you think they will forget it?
Or will they understand
That I just felt too… well,… shit?


via Daily Prompt: Rhyme


When I wake up I’m 50 and my kids are all at Uni. My parents are dead, I know this. My wife looks different… older. She tells me I’m 73 and my memory’s going. She must be right, my mind feels foggy.

When I wake up I’m 40 and my kids are teenagers, but they don’t look it. They look about my age. And they’ve got kids of their own. They look at me expectantly, but I don’t know them.

When I wake up I’m 25 and I should be at work. I keep trying to go, but they won’t let me.

When I wake up I’m 13 and I ask for my parents. I ask. Nobody answers.

When I wake up I’m 7 and I don’t know where I am.

via Daily Prompt: Foggy

Before and After Me

A stack of photographs lie on the floor. I pick one up. A girl. She is smiling and she is happy. There is laughter in her eyes. She is loud and bold. She is bright and colourful. Vibrant.

She is me, but I hardly recognise her.

She is me.


I pick up the next one. There is a smile, but the eyes are different. She holds a knowledge in them now, a certainty that the world is little bit worse than she feared. Her light has tapered off.

She is me as I am now.

She is me.


via Daily Prompt: Taper


There is a party. With laughter and drink and people I love. The room is packed. There is music and I am spinning.

Then someone comes to talk to me and they bring with them a smell. Maybe it’s the brand of the wine they are drinking, or their deodorant, or whatever they used to wash their hair. Whatever it is it sends a jolt of something horrible coursing through me. It squeezes my chest. It grips my thoughts. It lifts me up and takes me back to somewhere I don’t want to be.

There was another party. With laughter and drink and people who told me they loved me. One of them touched me. I told them not to, but we were alone and they did not stop. They had that smell- that wine, that deodorant, that shampoo… that… They are long gone now.

But that smell.

That fucking smell lets them reach through time and do it all over again.

The room is tiny. The music is far away. The walls are closing in and they are spinning.

via Daily Prompt: Jolt