A collection of poems that express explicit and implicit emotions and feelings learnt throughout periods of recovery and self-discovery. They are beacons of hope and knowledge about one's mental state and how people in your life can spur you into healing, as well as the growth you find within yourself.

Just as a phoenix is reborn and a dragon learns to breathe fire, we too can learn to rehabilitate again.


Borderline, (2020)


A sole dancer pirouettes

Against that grainy, lifeless soil.

A Hundred glimpses of shadowy faces

Veering through that mucky cloud

With different sneers and smiles

Cast in the iron of their mouths

Are dancing right beside her.


One by one, they take a turn

grabbing the dancer by her patchwork wrists.

Spin her into their submission

taking the stage as one.


Too tight!


Too strong!


Too much!


Locked in arms that will never hold her

But still provide some comfort.

Perhaps familiarity.

Their fingernails and thumbs dig into her arms.

Make her bleed again.

Drinking up that river vibrancy

To live, to live, to live!


In waltzes and twirls she is carried

In and out of that moonlit gaze.


A dancer with a smile so tight;

So wide;

So maniacal,

Laughing, laughing, laughing!

A grin so menacing

and full of ecstasy!

Laughing, laughing, laughing!


In a salsa!



Laughing and dancing!

Dancing and laughing!

Cackling like hens!

Howling like owls!



She begs to stop:

“I’m tired”,

through giggles.

The shadow’s smirk

Does not crack.

Instead grows

With delirious merit.


“Dance! Dance! Dance!”

They chime.


and she dances.


Thrown to the next,

snares her in her grasp.

In clasped, clawed fingers

they begin to dance.




Does not smile


It rages and shouts and screams


Blood-scratched irises.


Blood in their fists

From holding on too tight.


It rages on and on

The dancer rages too.

Fury in the scrunches

Of her face.

But she does not know why

She furies.


Starts to scream

(Jaw still stiff,

locked from rage)

“I’m tired!”

Does not smile.

Instead slaps her

With furious merit.


“Dance! Dance! Dance!”

They chime.


and she dances.


Pushed to the next

Shadowy figure.

This one is drowning

In melancholy.

Tears tainting

That face

In streams.

Limbs barely moving;

Weighted, heavy, thick.

Slow dancing like sleepwalking.

Both dancers lay tired

On the others chest.

Eyes puffy and drowned

With that bitterness;

Lemon-soured hopelessness.

“I’m tired” she sobs,

Muffled into the wet T-shirt.

The other dancer pulls back:

They stare into each other,

Souls bare and faint.


“I know” she replies.

Dusk Till Dawn, 2020

As so much lies beneath that sun

To starlight, dusk, dawn and night

Embedded in the capsules of my beady eyes

Sets stars and moon and crystal sparks.

So heavy shall I lay my heart at night

And calmly whisper in my sweet breath

That I embrace the arms of death.

Kiss my forehead and let me rest.

Kiss my forehead and give me rest.

For I shall know in this world

That I have acted my part.

And to life I shall say.

With grateful farewell

And fortuitus delight,

With all that sunlight

And that white-lit moon

I beg to differ:

“It is not too soon”.

So, give me that kiss,

That sweet kiss of death

To which I am not immune.

Embrace me stars

Give me rest;

Sunrise to Sunset

Dawn to Dusk.

Dusk till dawn.

Ode to My Mind – A Headless Dream, 2020


Ode to my mind, you screwed up piece of shit.

You have gotten me through a lot – I’ll give you that

But you run on constant loop and that tires me out.

And sometimes you have nothing good to say

(you don’t know the rules of the quiet game

And I wish you’d just shut up)!


I’ll admit you often sing me songs

(In which I happily sing along).

But you scream over the melody

“That person fucking hates you” and

“You’re a waste of space” and

“Here’s a nasty thought you didn’t ask for”.

Okay! I get it! I’m an asshole

But Muse are playing

So, could you kindly be quiet.


Oh, then you are silent!

It’s a dream…until ten minutes later

when you fancy another bout of


Oh, I enjoyed the flash image

of that traumatic event in my life!

Thank you! Next time send me a postcard.

It lasts longer…


Will I actually get to sleep tonight?

Or do you fancy a game of the worry-loop

in which I run around after you

trying to catch up.

Or will you present to me many scenarios

of what my identity might be today.

Ah perfect! I love a game of Guess Who!

before my 8-hour shift tomorrow.


But I must say, for everything you do

you are a bit of a smart-ass

and have the facts

to back up your big ideas.

You have gotten me pretty far in life

(although the road was a tad bumpy)

and you did help me write this poem

so, kudos to you, I guess…


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Poetry - Fictional Writing - Prose

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