There are monsters in these bones
who are filling my veins with ink
and turning my flesh to coal –
rendering my limbs leaden,
and this weight is dragging me down.

Most days I can’t even lift a finger;
I can’t live like this forever.

And the coal permeates my skin in patches
and this catches everyone’s attention
and they take it upon themselves to tell me
to “fight off my demons”
like it’s something I never considered.

But what’s the good in fighting something that’s a part of you?
It’s like going round in circles:
the only one you’re hurting is yourself.

No, I’d much rather box myself in
and close myself off;
set fire to my body
and make diamonds of these demons.


I once wrote a poem
likening me to Pluto
and you
to the Sun.
I wrote of how
I couldn’t possibly
have compared to you,
you this thing of beauty–
this thing of life and sustenance.

I waxed lyrical
about how
I revolved around you,
you this burning
ball of light–
this beacon
to guide me home.

It’s taken the death of stars
and asteroids for me to see;
it’s taken a few knockings
from meteors and debris but
I’ve learned.

I’ve learned
that you are not the Sun.

You’re a black hole;
you’re an all-consuming
pit of nothing;
a suffocating darkness.
And you don’t let people go.

But I’m still Pluto.
I’m still small
and I’m still not a planet.
But I won’t be sucked in by you;
I’m not in your solar system.
I never was.


I wish one day
that I could tell you I Am a Star
and mean it in the romantic sense–
that I’m a source of light
in the darkest nights;
that I am resilient,
I am eternal,
and I will guide you home.

For now, the literal will have to do:
I Am a Star.
I am unreachable,
I am an illusion;
I am just a fire that burned out long ago
and this light you see
won’t be there tomorrow.

Bad Company

As promised, here’s the fourth installment of my novella ‘Bad Company’ which I managed to pull out of the bag yesterday in an unusual – though wildly beneficial – bout of inspiration. Hope you enjoy!


The boat pulls up gently to the riverbank on the other side of the water. It’s lighter over here – no fog to create murky shadows and more lanterns filling the vast space before them. The air is thinner, cooler; more comfortable. The black marble path still continues away from the river in a straight line, surrounded on either side by pure white expanse. The path stretches sixty feet down the way towards a set of doors at least fifty feet tall, guarded by a hulking shadow.

“Okay, so, Orpheus,” E begins as he steps off the boat and flattens out the creases in his suit, “Long story short: Orpheus followed his deceased wife’s spirit into the depths of Hades in the hopes that he could get her back. He endeavoured to do this by appealing to Hades through music he plays on his lyre. He was relatively successful and was granted the opportunity to have his beloved Eurydice back. He was doing really well until, after being told not to look back on the journey out of Hades to see if she is indeed following him, Orpheus falls at the last hurdle and glances behind himself as he’s about to step out of the Underworld. His wife is in fact behind him however because he breached the contract and looked before stepping out of Hades, he gets to watch helplessly as Eurydice gets dragged back into the Underworld and he never sees her again.”

“That’s a tragic story but I fail to see its connection to our present endeavour,” Diane retorts as she disembarks the boat also. Charon wastes no time in docking from the riverbank and disappearing into the gloomy fog on the water again.

Continue reading Bad Company


So, after posting yesterday about a severe lack of inspiration: Mother Mary came to me and bestowed upon me words of wisdom.

Last night I bashed out a good, solid 2,000 words. Moment of silence please. So pleased with it! And I’m feowing more confident that I can continue in the same manner. BOOYAH.

Will have Chapter 4 edited and posted sometime later today for those who’re interested to read it!

that fire

You’re an uneven collection
of heart and soul
and flesh and bones that,
when rattled,
ignite in you furious flames
zealous and wild enough to rival those of
the Great Fire of London;
the blazing infernos of Hades;
this burning sensation in my very heart.
I can feel the sparks in my fingertips
when I touch your skin
and I’m swamped by your heat
when you stand so close.
You’re an explosion waiting to happen;
a terrible time-bomb whose ticker is set to five seconds–
four seconds.
I can only wonder what your blast radius is
(three seconds)
for I have no fireproof blanket to wear
(two seconds)
and no extinguisher to hand–
one second.
And this body’s been burned one too many times already.

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