Gone #2

I woke up gone from the present and present in the past you disappeared so fast but a part of me still lingers on the shelf above your bed I woke up gone from my head but still when I left a part of me stayed against my own will I woke up with you gone … More Gone #2


Sometimes I sit and stare at the falling leaves, pretend they give me inspiration while all I can really think about is how you built me a home in your arms and how I turned you down, chose the homeless life and called it an independent path. But my feet are always cold and autumn takes … More Leaves

Words of Blue

No, don’t stop. You always said you liked to watch me work, said you didn’t mind me piling up my words along the walls of every room. Then something changed, the spell broke. All of a sudden my words of blue didn’t go together with your mood. You said they were doomed, you threw them away … More Words of Blue

this is not a poem #3

I used to find comfort in words and words used to flow so effortlessly now sweat breaks on my forehead and I choke on my thoughts as I lie in bed and how many times a day am I to tell me I’m okay how are these haunted words once innocent to cure my crushed and fragile soul they hurt and they say it … More this is not a poem #3

I Am a Moment

grab me like I’m the moment you wouldn’t dare to forget don’t capture me like I’m something you can keep framed on your wall breathe me feel me burn your lungs live me like I’m the only thing you’ll ever taste Here’s another pile of words, while Mrs Reckless is off to collect her thoughts … More I Am a Moment

this is not a poem #2

I kick harder and harder desperate to move faster and faster Away from this miniature town the prison that gladly watched me suffocate and placed bets on how long it would take to end me Not long one glimpse into the past enough to make me shake inside and crumble I push through the laboured breaths and the heartache rising … More this is not a poem #2

Not My Words

Is it okay to steal to fill my head with borrowed thoughts? Is it a crime to yell to tell my story in someone else’s paragraphs? Will you boo me sue me for feeding you lines already spoken? I really don’t know what I’m doing, but at least I’m doing something.


How bloody ironic is it of me to beg you to let me out when it is me who’s still holding you hostage inside the prison of my brain