won’t stay

Do you love me?

I don’t believe you.

If you really love me

why aren’t you true?

I love you, darling,

and I’d never stray

So don’t hold your breath

because I won’t stay.

Drain Away

In the dead of night, when the light of day

Is a memory fainter than a candle’s flame,

The colours of the world turn fast to gray

And everything I love slips far, far away

Oh, dancing sins and burning flames,

Have you come to burn my life away?

You can flush my ashes down the drain

But don’t judge me too harshly; I’m not to blame

Because all of those things that they do and say

Are from ages past, when the light of day

Still burnt as brightly as a candle’s flame

When family and love was one and the same

But now there is nothing, no love and no hope

No way to move on, there’s no way to cope

So I will sit here, in the dead of the night

Watching the monitors flashing red lights

And hope that the pain will drain with the blood

The blood is still pouring. Look, it’s a flood!

No, you can’t stop me, I’m too far ahead

By the time that you reach me, I’ll already be dead

Damn Right I Am

but it was dark in the garden

the night was thick

it blotted out the light

inky, inky night

with cut-out stars

and ribbon winds

slithering through my coat

the leaves rustle

he’s here

what took him so long?

hey, he says

don’t hey me, punk.

I’m mad at you.

I found this girl, he says

oh, really?

That’s where you were?


You mad?


You ditched me for

some other girl

what do you think?

But Ma, he says.

You’ll always be here.


It’s too dark to see you tonight

he says

but I know you’re there

the clouds move

Oh! Ma!

he says

There you are!

the brightest star of them all

damn right I am

Love you, Ma

love you too, son

I’ll bring her to see you


excuse me?

this place ain’t big enough

for some other girl

see you later, Ma

see you always, son

Welcome to my Prison

There are no colours in my life

They died.


and i started to cry.


i said

they didn’t listen.

and now

I’ve hardened my heart

it’s here

welcome to my


Bled Inside

I walked through the graveyard

Not a soul left in sight

The rows of coloured flags

Waved gently in the night

My steps were not as heavy

As the tombstones all around

But there was one half-hidden

As it lay, cracked, upon the  ground

The stone was dark and grimy

Its message, hard to read

But I knew of its story

Its death, a horrid deed

No demon is more evil

Than the one the fates foretold

Would slaughter all our love

And turn all our hearts cold

The tombstone bears the date

That I’ll rue forevermore

The day we fell to pieces

The day we lost the war

Do you remember it at all?

It was the day love died

When all of Earth turned its back

As we stood and bled inside


i didn’t know

blood was so red.

the way it flows

so fast

it drips

from the knife

to the floor.


I’m in a puddle of it.

all i wanted

was a piece of your heart.

A Little Prop

I was wearing jeans for the first time to the hospital, and had left my stethoscope upstairs. I had just come in from outside. The day was hot and breezy; it was no surprise, therefore, that my greasy hair was windblown, and my lips were chapped.

I didn’t care; there was no mirror nearby, and I was hot, sweaty, and irritable. But I didn’t realise how bare my appearance had left me to the assumptions of others.

“Excuse me, dear,” said a fragile, elderly woman, wearing a pink coat larger than she was. “Where are the hats?”

“H-Hats?!” I’ve been asked for many things in my short career, but never for ‘hats’. I glanced around, wondering if she’d been speaking to someone else.

Nope. Just me.

“Yes. Hats. You work here, don’t you, sweetie?”

I looked down at my jeans, yellow t-shirt, and badge. I could see why she would have thought that. Although I’d never worked in sales in my life.

“N-no,” I said, still not having recovered from this foreign role thrust upon me. How did you respond to these sorts of questions? “…b-but I can help you look! I think I saw some over there.”

“No, not those.” The woman waved her hand dismissively. “Those are too big.”

“Well, what about…”

“Don’t worry.” The woman turned her back to me. “It’s okay. I’ll find someone who actually knows.”

Later on, when I had fixed my hair and recovered my stethoscope, I saw the woman in the cafeteria.

“Did you find your hat?” was the first thing out of my mouth.

“Oh, yes, dearie!” she said eagerly, reaching in her bag to show me. “Thank you so much for your help! Just look at it! Isn’t it darling?”

Help? I hadn’t remembered giving any help. In fact, I remember her distinctively dismissing my help.

Funny how a little prop around your neck can make a world of difference.


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