Dear Reader,

Welcome to the unrefined ramblings of a fool! I’ve been writing for some time but as I’m starting to branch out into more of my own original writing I want to share the random little stories that pop into my head as I write them down. I have no set genre of writing so this will likely be a collection of very random short stories, drabbles, free writing that wafts through my head and manages to make it’s way from my brain to paper to the screen.

Though I’ve been writing for a while I’m relatively new to sharing my writing and always love to share stories with others and hear what they think! Any and all comments are always welcome I can’t expect to improve without a little constructive criticism!

Posting may not be extremely regular especially over the next few months as I’m currently finishing my last year of my undergraduate degree but once finals are over I’m hoping that will pick up!

For now, happy reading,

– Liv.



No Bloody Clue: What the hell was that?

What the hell was that? What had happened last night? The next morning this same thought kept swimming in dizzying circles around my brain as David nattered on over breakfast. His voice seemed to melt into the general buzz of the hall, mixing into general the clatter and noise of the other students getting their breakfasts. I nodded and smiled, chipping in as needed but for the most part I could stay quiet and brood with a smile stretched over my face. He was off on some story. Some Greek myth perhaps? I was sure he’d told me this story before but I didn’t bother saying so. In fact I think he’s told it to me twice before. I wouldn’t have been able to interrupt him anyway. Once he started on a story whatever I chipped in would go unheard. It was like pressing the play button and letting the tv just rattle on. Sometimes I wondered if I was even needed? He’d get the same level of input from a mannequin. But at least it allowed me to brood. To obsess. I couldn’t help it. I’d felt so… odd. So completely and utterly unlike myself. Well, unlike.. Us? I suppose? For the first time ever he felt too large. His presence was so huge it sucked the air from the room. It dialled up the heat to sweltering and made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Was I still mad at him? I don’t think so. But then what was it?

As he picked up his bag after breakfast ready to leave I felt my heart sink, settling in the pit of my stomach and suddenly I felt like I wanted to cling to him again and not let go. He wrapped his large arms around me and held me to him and I tried my hardest to find some kind of solace in him, in the hug. I knew his smell so well but, it wasn’t the same. Overpowered sweetness. I knew his warmth so well but suddenly it felt like sweat not like comfort. I pulled back quickly, smiling and kissing him, fighting the urge to recoil. Did the stubble always scratch like that? Did it always feel like a bruise not a kiss? My brain was reeling.

Shoving the feelings as far down as I could I smiled and waved him goodbye. Scrubbing a hand over my face I pulled on my boots after he’d gone and grabbed my keys. I needed to take a walk. I needed to get out of this tiny box of a room. It felt like living in a damn shoe cupboard. And frankly I didn’t want to think. There was too much swimming through my soupy brain and I didn’t have the energy to try and decipher it all.

Stepping out into the fresh air felt like removing a thick layer of heat and dust from my skin. It wasn’t cold but there was enough of a breeze that the air felt cool and fresh. Locking all the confused shitty feelings from the night before and this morning in my room I wondered through the streets, down Tottenham Court Road and towards Soho. The little winding streets were all still new and unexplored but thankfully close enough that I knew I wouldn’t get lost. I felt myself grin when I found myself outside a huge Foyles. The red banner seemed to wink at me, flirting with me in the breeze and, throwing my strict student budget out the window, I entered at my own peril.

That new book smell hit me and I felt myself take a deep breath in, letting it out in a satisfied heavy sigh. Everything was clean and bright and thousands upon thousands of spines stacked the shelves. God I could get lost in here. Happily. And never come out. It was the perfect little hiding hole, almost like Alice falling down the rabbit hole.

I don’t know how long I browsed for. It could have been any number of hours I really don’t know. There was so much to look at and so much to choose from, not like the piddly little store back home with a measly single floor. At one point I really did get lost, and it took me a good ten minutes to find my way back to the stairs, a few books stacked up in my arms. I had, despite appearances, exerted some level of self control. Given my way I’d have bought every Philippa Gregory book on the shelf and more besides. As it was, I’d only come away with four. One little anthology of poems. Two Philippa Gregory books and one on Middle Egyptian. I had a feeling I’d be needing it. The boy behind the counter gave me a warm smile, scanning the books.

“You’re a history fan then?” he chuckled, nodding at the books. I gave a small smile and nodded.

“Yeah, just a bit.” He smiled and bagged up the books, tapping one of the Philippa Gregories.

“It’s good this one. My favourite yet.” I looked up, looking at him properly. I had to admit I was a little surprised.

“I’ve never really met a guy who likes her books,” I admitted. He shook his head, a small smile on his face.

“We’re a rare breed,” he said, slotting it into the bag with the others. “I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.”

“I’m sure I will,” I said, handing over the money. “Thanks,” I added, giving him a tiny smile before taking the bag. He waved good bye and I left feeling calmer, more settled than I had done all weeks. New books will do that to a person I guess. Well, they always have done for me. I loose myself and find other people. And it helps with the muse for my own writing. Even if it’s only fan fiction, I still want to make it as good as possible. And reading, well, reading helps get the juices flowing. It helps put the voices back inside my head and helps string the floating words together into coherent sentences. And it helps to keep the other stuff quiet.

No Bloody Clue: Well Bugger.

Well bugger. He’s going to be late. Just, lovely. Huffing I threw my phone onto the bed and stared at my laptop screen for a moment. My irritability was only compounded by the fact that the writing still wan’t coming. I’ve never had problems with muse for my fan fictions before but I’m really struggling now. Perhaps a change of scenery and a change of location will help. It’s not like David will be here any time soon. Apparently his music lot are all going for drinks after a ‘jamming’ session. Well I’m sure that’s lovely. I know I hadn’t exactly had to cancel plans to spend the afternoon with him but I haven’t seen him in two weeks and I was kind of looking forward to, you know, seeing my boyfriend? We’d had the whole day planned. Now I didn’t even know what time he was getting here.

Snapping my laptop shut I pick up my phone and pull on a jumper, snatching up my bag and key before leaving my room. Now that I have no plans until god only knows when I may as well go out. I’m not really sure where I’m going or what I’m going to do but I’m not going to sit around just waiting for him all day. I’m not that pathetic.

The air is cool as I leave halls and breathing it in I let out a long heavy sigh, feeling the heaviness in my chest lessen. I can feel my phone buzzing away in my pocket but I’m not answering it. He knows I’m pissed. He’s grovelling. Good. He should know I’m irritated. A nasty little part of me wants him to feel guilty. Maybe if he feels bad enough he won’t do it again, though I’m not hopeful. We’ve had these plans for over a week and he has the nerve to change it all up this morning!? Really!? Rolling my eyes I pull out the irritating buzzing box and put it on aeroplane mode before bunging it back in my bag. He can stew in it.

I follow a clean paved street away from the university, the pavement lined by orange and red and yellow leaves, creating a carpet of colour towards the elegant old structure of the British Museum. There are a couple of people milling about the stone lions, taking photos and posing for selfies before they meander through the doors but otherwise it’s not busy outside. I watch them for a moment, hesitating before following a little family of four into the museum. It feels funny coming in the back entrance, almost like it’s a secret. It’s quieter than the main entrance. There is one man on the door and a couple of people milling about a little coffee counter. Rather than a booming great entrance hall, the back door leads into a low ceilinged room, the lighting dim and faded as it leaks in through the doors, leading onto a wide staircase. Climbing the stares I come out into a tall room filled with a random assortment of artefacts. Some look Native American, some I couldn’t say, but splitting the room is low glass case just filled with pills of all shapes and sizes. I’ve never been so confused, and even reading the little white cards doesn’t particularly clarify things. I decide to give the rest of this random room a miss and walk out into the main atrium, the room filled with stark white light. Winding my way around the large circular room I find my way to the Egyptian collection. Maybe reading some of the plaques will give me some little nuggets of information that might help me out a little in class. I seem to be the only person in every lecture who has yet to put her their hand to answer a question. At this point I’ll try anything to help.

It was surprisingly soothing, walking through rows and rows of artefacts, each with a tiny story attached to their side. It was busy of course it was but, putting my headphones in I was almost able to get totally lost in the crowd. No one was asking me my name or what I was studying or what school I’d been to. No one cared if I had taken a gap year or what my plans were for afterwards. In fact, no one looked twice at me. It felt like a great heavy sigh had been pulled from my lungs, pulling with it all the tension from my shoulders and the buzzing from my brain. No one was asking me questions; no one was texting me; no one expected me to know anything or expected any response from me.

As the other people slowly started to trickle out of the museum I found myself in a smaller room, one wall covered by vibrant tomb art, the colours all still singing brightly from the stone, the lines sharp and clear. Sitting on the floor I looked up at it, a tiny smile pulling at my face. It was more stunning than anything I’d ever seen. Even after thousands of years it’s spirit still shined. It was remarkable that something so beautiful was so resilient, that the wonder of it hadn’t been crushed. I should try and be more like them, like the figures painted on the wall, strong, bold, resilient, colourful. But I’m not sure I have that in me. I’m not sure I ever have. Is uni really made for people like me? People who don’t like going out, who don’t like other people?

I sat for as long as I was allowed, unsure of how much time had passed but at five thirty I’m ushered out of the room, a disgruntled look on the security guards face as he sweeps me and a few straggling visitors out of the building. The cold wind wraps around me and my spine jitters as a shiver rolls over me. What to do now. What to do now… I pull out my phone to see if I have any missed messages. Mum. Mum. Dad. David. Just the one.

‘Still out. Not sure what time I’ll get one the train sorry! I love you xxxxxxxxxxxx!”

Yeah. Great. Okay. I scowl at my phone.

“Do you want me to wait for you to eat?” I type. No smilies. No kisses. We were gong to spend the day together at one of the parks. We had planned to get dinner after and see a movie. But now… what? Am I supposed to wait for him? Yes. I spend my entire time waiting for him. I wait for him when he’s late, I wait for him when he changes plans. I wait for him to get ready, I wait for him to respond to messages. I spend my entire time, waiting for him. Has it always been like this or am I only just noticing it now? I’m honestly not sure.


“Yeah if you could! Thanks! Xxxxxx”  Rolling my eyes I send back a terse

“Sure” before shoving my phone back in my bag and making my way back to my room.

I spend the evening waiting to hear from David, waiting to know what time he’ll get here. At one point my neighbour Kate knocked on my door, asking if I wanted to go down to dinner with her.

“No thanks” I smiled. “I’m having dinner with my boyfriend tonight.”

“Oh!” she grinned. “That’s cool! What time is he coming?” At this I’d bit my bottom lip, glancing at my phone.

“I’m not sure…” I admitted. She grimaced and gave me what I assumed was meant to be a reassuring pat on the arm.

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” she said. It just came off pitying.

By nine o’clock my stomach was rumbling and I had still not heard from David. Picking up my phone I checked again for messages and … nothing. Of course. Unlocking my phone I tapped out an irritable

“Where are you?”



“Could have fucking said,” I muttered, grabbing my key and throwing my phone on the bed as I walked out to let him in.

David was standing in his large puffer coat, hair a dirty blonde a mess as usual. He pulled me into a crushing bear hug and kissed  me but I pulled away, turning to lead him into the halls without a word.

He was babbling about something, something to do with his music buddies and what it was they’ve been doing all day as I signed him in as a guest.

“And then we went to this epic burger place…” I turned, jaw set.

“You’ve already eaten?” I asked. He frowned as I stopped, my hand on the door handle, the door still shut.

“Yeah. Why?” he asked, shifting his bag on his shoulder. “Why do you have your Bunny Boiler look on?” Gritting my teeth I pushed open the door and turned my back on him as I walked into my room.

“You asked me to wait, so that we could eat together,” I said. I could practically hear his face drop. I knew exactly what it looked like before I even turned around. He had his puppy dog eyes on. It was his ‘please-don’t-be-mad-at-the-cute-puppy’ face.

“Shit,” he said, taking my hand and yanking me around hard so that I tripped into him. That was closer than I wanted to be at the moment. He was hot from the train and frankly, he needed to freshen up. In my current, hungry and irritable mood I wasn’t willing to forgive any of this. “Shit, I’m sorry I totally forgot,” he said. “I’m sorry babe.” I pulled away and sat down on my bed.

“Go shower,” I said, nodding at the bathroom door. “I’ll have some cereal or something whilst you’re in there.”

“Babe, I’m sorry we can order in or something,” he said, trying to redeem himself with a theatrically charming grin. “You know me I always have room for more!” I just looked at him, arms folded over my stomach.

“Go. I’ll just have some cereal.”


“It’s fine.” And with that the stupid grin slid from his face. He dropped his bag in the middle of the tiny room, pulling out clothes and shower things, leaving a trail of David all over the floor before he vanished into the bathroom.

By the time he re-emerged I felt marginally less sulky. The food helped. I was now burrowed under the blankets, bear under arm watching crappy TV off of youtube. David emerged with his hair sticking up in all different directions, changed into his pyjamas.

“You mad at me?” he asked, not yet daring to sit on the edge of the bed. I knew he wouldn’t dare to until he knew it was safe. I looked up at him, silent for a minute before raising my head a tad to mutter,

“You look like a hedgehog.” He grinned, taking a step closer. Brave move.

“A cute hedgehog?” I just shrugged, turning my attention back to the laptop.

“Are you gonna hurt me if I try and cuddle you?” He still had that stupid grin on his face. Stupid charming grin. He looked like a cartoon character.

“Haven’t decided,” I mumbled. He seemed to take this as permission to enter and climbed up onto the bed, the mattress creaking under the added weight. I could practically hear the little old bed swear at me and apologised in my head. I half wondered if it would break.

It didn’t. The rest of the evening passed in a vaguely uncomfortable cuddle session, his heavy limbs around me, feeling like a dead weight over my torso making my breathing feel heavy. He was too hot. Too heavy. His hand too hard as he attempted to pet my hair. I wasn’t a dog in need of a hard pat on the head, and he kept accidentally pulling at my hair. Eventually all I could feel was dead weight as he started to snore. I jabbed him hard in the ribs, kicking him out of the tiny single bed and onto the inflatable mattress on the floor before rolling over, hugging my bear to me. What was so wrong? Why did I want to cry? I couldn’t put my finger on it. I hardly ever felt suffocated by him like that. I usually didn’t want to let go but right now all I could think was thank god this bed isn’t big enough for the both of us. I didn’t even really want him in the room. Not really. I wanted it to myself. I wanted the quiet. I wanted the space.


I’m just… cold,

I’m just cold that’s all

There is nothing more to be told

I’m just, cold.


I’m just… tired,

I’m just tired that’s all

No nothing has transpired

I’m just, tired.


I’m just… stressed.

I’m just stressed that’s all

No I’m not depressed

I’m just, stressed.


I’m just… crying

I’m just crying that’s all

Because inside I’m dying

I’m just, crying.


I’m just… screaming

I’m just screaming that’s all

And all I can do is keep dreaming

That one day I’ll stop screaming.

No Bloody Clue: Ugh

Ugh. I could not be more tired. Trudging back towards my room my legs feel heavy and tired, and the walk feels long. I have to remind myself that five minutes really isn’t that big of a deal, and that some people live as far as forty minutes one the tube away. All I want to do is flop and veg for the entire evening. But of course as soon as my arse hits my bed, my phone is pinging away. David.

‘Wanna chat?’

‘How was your day?’

‘You still in class?’

‘Bet it was so cool!’

‘Is it still okay if I come tomorrow?’

‘I’ll be there right after music.’

‘I’ve packed clothes, tooth brush, face wash, wallet, train passes, oyster card, do I need anything else?’

‘I love you by the way.’

I let out a hard sigh and flop. I should reply. But I just have no energy and I still haven’t eaten. But food means either going down to the hall, or going out to buy something that I can bung in the microwave. I don’t really want to do either if I’m honest. I don’t want to play yet another round of twenty questions with a table of twelve people I’ve never met before. It feels like that’s all I’ve done for the last week. I have cereal, and milk in the tea room across the hall. To be honest it sort of sounds like bliss right now. Pulling myself up I grab my TARDIS mug and empty some chereos into it before grabbing my door key and walking out into the hall. Avoiding any and all eye contact with the boy walking towards me (I think he’s my neighbour but if I’m honest I can’t be sure seeing as every time someone looks at me I avoid eye contact) I back into the little tea room and open the fridge, pulling out the milk carton with my name written in huge letters all over it. If boarding school taught me anything, it was not  to take chances.

I make my way back into my room and once the door shuts I sit myself at the little desk, pulling out my laptop and put on Netflix. A little Once Upon A Time and a mug of cereal always settles me. Perhaps I’ll even continue with some fanfic later. I can hear my phone buzzing but really, I don’t want to answer it. I don’t have the energy to keep up with him tonight. I don’t have it in me to plaster a smile on my face and say everything is great and dandy, and hear about how epic his music school is going and how awesome it all is and how much fun he is having. I feel a little jealous really. How does he find it all so easy? How can he be so… functional? It’s like talking to strangers doesn’t even scare him a little bit! I’ve never understood it.

Repressing my feelings as hard as I can I finish my dinner in a mug and finally pick up my phone.

Yeah class was good 🙂’ I type. ‘Lots of homework though not sure I’m gonna be able to Skype tonight sorry. :/ Xxxx’ I hit send and seconds later I can see that he is typing. I rub my face, standing and changing into my pyjamas before sitting back at my laptop and pulling pen and paper towards me, starting to scribble over the latest chapter of ‘Second Chance’ my latest ‘Once’ fan fiction. Emma and Regina of course. I don’t care what the writers say they make gooey ‘God I really bloody love you’ eyes at each other every other episode, and half the fandom agrees with me. I’m planning to type it up later. My phone bings at me again.

‘ 😦 Okay… Is everything alright?’ I sigh, picking up my phone.

‘Yeah 🙂 Just homework,’ I lie. No. It’s not really. It’s been a long day and I’ve only been able to pluck up the courage to talk to a single person and that’s only because she talked to me first, so I didn’t really have a choice. I’d promised myself I’d do better than that. I just, don’t have the energy to go into it now. If I do I might cry. So instead, fan fiction. I’ll make them cry instead perhaps. It’s easier that way and my readers seem to love a bit of angst. The comments section is always spammed after I post a shouting match scene.



I sigh. I don’t know what to say to him. So I just send a smily back and turn my phone over, choosing instead to focus on Emma and Regina. Where had I got to again? Ah yes. Emma was about to tell Regina she loved her. I picked up my pen again, hitting play on my ‘Swan Queen’ playlist and started writing. Angst angst angst LOVE. That’s usually how it goes. It seemed to be a winning formula at least.

“Regina…” Emma faltered, her eyes flitting back down to her boots.

I pause. No. Strike a line through it.

“Regina, it’s not that simple,” Emma said, her words desperate, pleading.

No. I sigh, scratching the line through again.

“Regina…” Regina looked up at her…

Scribble scribble scribble.

“Regina I love you” And they all live bloody happily ever bloody after and snogged and made lots of magical babies.

I groan, letting my head flop onto the desk. This isn’t working. This just isn’t happening tonight. I shove the paper and Emma and Regina away and shunt my chair back, standing and moving over to the bed, dragging my laptop with me. Throwing it on the bed I slide under the covers, picking up my very loved, not really white any more bear, burying my face against him. He’s not really soft anymore either but I don’t care. He’s home. I know. I’m eighteen, almost nineteen and I still have a stuffy that I can’t sleep a single night without. Well, newsflash. I love him. His name is Snowball. And you’d have to pry him from my cold dead fingers because he isn’t going anywhere. He has seen me through so many tears it’s a wonder he’s not waterlogged. Perhaps it’s why his fur is so matted. The poor old polar bear. He comfort’s me through a couple more before I pull my face away and dry my eyes, shuffling down under the covers, buried up to my eyes in blankets. Head only just peeking up from my nest, bear under my arm I pull the laptop to the edge of the bed and go into youtube, looking for an episode of Gordon Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares that I haven’t seen yet. When I finally find one I click to full screen and settle. I’m just tired. And overwhelmed. Things will settle. That’s what mum says. Things will settle. I’ve got to give it a chance. I peek at my phone after a while and find a long, long goodnight text from David. The usual. ‘I love you more than the world.’ ‘You’re my everything.’ ‘I adore you so much.’ And on and on and on. I used to love it. It used to make me smile and I used to write back with the same gusto. But now I can’t help but wonder if it’s rather juvenile. Sure in the puppy love stages it was cute but, should we both be a little more grown up by now? I mean, school’s done, over. We aren’t kids anymore right? Though I’m not so sure about that last part. I send a somewhat shorter response back before setting the phone down and focussing all my attention on the TV. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow has to be better.

No Bloody Clue

No bloody clue. Not a single one. Am I supposed to know the answer? I mean, this is the first lecture right? So surely everyone is on the same no-knowledge-assumed, haven’t-got-a-single-idea basis. This is a pretty specialist subject so surely people can’t already be experts? I mean who studies Ancient Egyptian before uni!? I’m not even sure it’s possible at school. Not in this country anyway. But there are hands in the air. Actual real hands bouncing and pleading to be chosen. Some of them belonging to quirkily dressed guys who look closer to thirty than eighteen, with large square glasses and curling moustaches that look like they were plucked off of the faces of 19th century men. Others belong to girls with boldly coloured lips, curling into tiny smirks as they lean back lazily in their seats, slurring out answer before they are even asked for them. I sink lower in my seat, looking down as the wirey man who is our lecturer looks around the room with darting eyes, hidden behind fragile looking spectacles. Not me. Please not me, I think, sinking lower in my chair and fixing my eyes on my notes. I have no intention of making an idiot of myself on the first day. The small classroom is hot and stuffy, the evening sun shining directly onto my back through a cloudy window, making me feel slow and stupid. If he asks me now I’m sure I’ll just make a fool of myself. The girl next to me leans over with a derisive smirk on her face. She’d bustled in late, a relaxed air of confidence shrouding her like a protective cloak, excusing herself from the lecturers stunned face with some throw away comment about an over run class.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “There are always a few keenoes in classes like these. People who’ve never been outside and have had nothing better to do all their life but try and teach themselves dead languages in their mother’s basements. Don’t let them intimidate you. Come exam time they’ll be flapping hardest of all.” I looked up and gave her a tiny smile, the churning in my stomach settling a little.

“Yeah? Guess I should have expected it,” I said, pulling at my sleeves a little, trying my hardest to push down that small strugglingly awkward feeling that had always made it’s home in the pit of my stomach. I’d tried today. It was the first day of lectures so of course, I’d agonised over what to wear, my mother’s words about first impressions whizzing loudly around my brain as I had stood in front of the tiny closet. But even my favourite dark green jumper and perfect winged liner couldn’t make me feel less awkward today. It just felt wrong, like I was wearing an outfit designed for someone else, like the clothes didn’t belong to me. I’d felt prepared. Hell I’d been excited. Because I, Lottie Witts, had done a summer course. Heck I’d done two summer courses. One in Ancient Egyptian language that our teacher had assured us covered a fresher’s first month of lectures. And one in the history of the life’s span of the Pharaohs. So that, and the copious amount of documentaries I had watched, gave me a head start right? Wrong. Day one and I was lost in a desert of strange impossible to pronounce words and very ‘alternative’ looking peers, other than this single, nice normal looking girl.

“They’re not as intimidating as they look,” the girl smiled. “They filled my Ancient Hebrew class last year as well.” My eyes widened a little. Ancient Hebrew? So, everyone in this class really was either a genius or had presumably spent all their lives studying this stuff in their cramped smelly rooms. Fabulous. I gave a tiny nod and sunk lower into my chair yet again, attempting to keep up with what the lecturer was saying and failing miserably. I’d have to look it up later. Finally the clock on the wall hit 6 I sprang up out of my chair, almost knocking it over as I tried to shove my paper and pens back into my bag as fast as possible. I wanted to get out of here. I wanted food. And I wanted my bed. Even if it was in a sparsely decorated box of a room. At least it was close. As I went to leave the blond girl who’d been sitting next to me flashed me a smile.

“I’m Annabelle by the way” she smiled. “So I’m guessing you’re a fresher?” I gave a small grimace, shifting my bag on my shoulder.

“Lottie,” I said. “How could you tell? Was it the completely lost look in my eye or the terrified expression on my face?” She just chuckled warmly and shook her head.

“Just a guess,” she smiled. “But here listen, let me give you my number. If you need anything feel free to text me,” she said, her slender hand extended for my phone. I gave a small nod, trying my best to smile as I handed her my phone and she quickly dialled in her number. And with a quick good bye and a waft of light perfume she was gone, a flash of died blonde hair swishing around the corner and down the narrow winding stairs of the archaeology building. I let out a little breath, looking out of the window at the dimmed light of the street outside before following the last trailing members of the class down the stairs. Well, it could have been worse, right?

What if….?

What if I never get out of this hole,

What if by the time i’m grey and old

I’m still stuck inside these four walls

Never having left my parents halls.


What if all I ever have is potential,

What if this loss of muse is part of some sequential

Failure to come up with something new,

Something that’s worthy not just of me but you.


What if all I ever am is ‘fine’,

What if it doesn’t get better with time.

Will there always be these ups and downs

That line my brow with perpetual frowns.


What if I have to face it alone,

What if everyone is just too worn to the bone?

What if they all slip away?

What if they aren’t here to stay?


I don’t know what comes next.

I don’t know where I’m going.

I don’t know what to do, how to find out, how to start.


But I know I’ll figure it out,

And that at some point soon I’ll vanquish all this doubt.

Paper Swords

You think you’re prepared,

You think you know what’s coming.

You know what’s there so you’re not scared,

You can see them running.


You pull out your sword to strike a blow,

You stare the beast dead in the eye

But suddenly everything starts to slow

And you don’t understand why.


Sword strikes flesh but instead of drawing blood,

Instead of drawing a scream of pain

You’re thrown back into the mud

And it’s laughing at you, as if this is all just a game.


Looking down your sword has vanished

Replaced by paper and card,

With one look, with one blow, all your assuredness has been banished.

How did you never realise it would be this hard?


Useless, pathetic, lying on the floor,

Watching the battle go on around you.

The person you swore to protect fighting tooth and claw

Whilst despite the sweat on your brow you really don’t have a clue.


You’ve tried and failed

Every weapon turning to dust as you strike.

None made a dent, nothing prevailed,

Every blow deflected alike.


You don’t know how, you don’t know when,

But suddenly he’s gone and the sky is clear.

And she is there, safe and sound again.

But it was nothing you did, nothing you said, and you wonder why you were even here?


Did I make a difference, even a little bit?

Because my darling I don’t know if I even saw you make a hit.

You struck the beast dead and I don’t even know when

But the one thing I do know is that you will do it again.

Because you’re stronger than you think; you’re stronger than you know.

And I know that you don’t want me to go.

But did you really need me here?

Or was I just there to quell your fear

Whist you did battle with the monster under your bed

And vanquished the demons inside your head.



You can feel the vibrations under your skin, raising every hair

Warning you that something or someone is there.


They’ve crept into your room at the dead of night

With the sole intention of giving you a fright.


You can feel them breathing down the back of your neck

As those dark monsters begin to get closer step by step.


Their fingers tip toe up your skin

Just to remind you that they’ve broken in.


You’re not safe, you’re not alone

And suddenly you’re chill to the bone.


As your heart rate begins to climb

Suddenly you’re out of time.


They’re here they’re in your head

And slowly the panic begins to spread.


Can’t think can hardly breath can’t even see,

Wondering if you’ll ever be free

From the torment your own mind has created;

Will the monsters ever be sated?

Ink Spots

There are some things you only notice at the dead of night,

Like how the sky is not black but full of light,

It’s purple paint and blue ink

Filled with glittering ghosts, whole worlds looking down at you and throwing you a little wink.




Warmth in the chill, soft light breaking through the trees. Quietly linked, small smiles shining, two girls walk through the woods.

One pink one blue, one light one dark, two halves of one whole. Delicate threads that weave together to form that fragile glowing bond as love is made of, here where the weights and chains and hooks of expectation are hung between lovers, there is only light. These threads are not weighed down with the heat of bodily need as yours are. Free from physical want pure silks are woven into a knot that binds, holding the two together through wind and rain and fire.

Where two souls meet the puzzle is complete and the two girls wander, one spirit searching the woods not for a final destination, but simply for the next delight, for the next game to take flight, for the next smile or simply to race the next mile. For all is innocence when one can find the other half that they shall never again leave behind.