No words of wisdom. No clever rhymes. Not this day. Something heavy weighs me down.
While in repose, still and silent, it is not nothing that I hear. Subtle whispers
“Don’t say anything!” spoke the shadow in the doorway. I was seven years of age. I lay limp upon the couch, still recovering from
Clawing away. It’s dark here, chill and dank. Can’t stop now. Can’t stop ever.
It was in those early days when everything seemed technicolor there was that explosion only inward then nothing
The storm is brewing. I smell it in the air. I am panicking. I can barely breathe. I fear this tempest
Seems no way out, but deep within. There’s a resonant voice calling from the depths of my being; I am not what you imagine me to be…
Who of you will follow where I’m bound to go? None that I can see. None that I can name. No-one that I know.
I was addressed today in the secret silent language that everyone knows; except for me. It was assumed I’d know exactly
It seems for ages, I have been trapped behind yet another version of what I want to think I know. I was so sure I loved you
Listen. There it is. The hum of perfect silence at the centre of all that is, and isn’t.
My father has come to dinner; He does not knock. He is not welcome. He is dead. Yet he insists on joining me
I am seven years old. My brother is ten. The beating was brutal. My brother is recovering conscious… I believed he was dead.
There’s a voice deep inside getting stronger every day. I cannot deny the message these urgent words proclaim. Why bother?
I’ve howled and raved and ranted at all those whom I could name, in search of peace and freedom from this ancient seething rage. But still there lingers bitter bil…
