i) Many think I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but in fact it was a silver knife. I’ve fought all my life. Fought to love, and to be loved. I’ve been called “iron hearted”, or something to that effect – however is not iron, but in fact scar tissue from where I’ve had to cut into myself and confront demons, to try to regain control of my life.

ii) I once had an irrational fear of mirrors, that one day my reflection would doing something different – now I avoid mirrors for fear of seeing an empty face staring back at me. The eyes are the windows to the soul and there might not be anything there.

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When you’re so heartbroken that you’ve lost the will to write. And that person/situation just wrung out whatever creative juice you had left in you. When you were able to spin gold with your words, but now nothing forms in your mind but cobwebs. Your cathartic experience now held as a prisoner of war.

Won’t you join me and make this a table for two?

We can order whatever you want

Talk about what you love, and what makes you blue

Let’s skip the pleasantries

(May 2015)

To have and to hold, to let go and to lose.

Is it really ‘heartbreak’

When you heart has been broken over and over

Ground into dust?

What do you call it then?

Tell me, I must know.

 

Tasting something that is no longer there

Remnants of emotional instability

The sunset doesn’t seem so beautiful anymore

How did it become so dull?

Attempts to master the art of stoicism – proven futile

It has to come out, the pain has to come out

Longing.

Why don’t you ever write me back?

All you’ve done is stuck the proverbial knife in my chest

And killed me

And dug up my body

Only to stab me again