Why do I feel so hurt?

I guess it’s not just the betrayal, it’s also the fact that he was the good one. Hypocritical, I know, but obviously emotions don’t give a damn about hypocrisy.

I have made mistakes – at least a couple of big ones – but that just seems to compound the hurt and betrayal. I’m the screw-up, the one that makes mistakes, the one who fucks up and nearly ruins everything. He has always been the good, loyal, forgiving, understanding one – he’s been my rock, my anchor to life and love and happiness.

And then he fucked up.

Now my rock is cracked, my anchor rusted, and I’m left drifting, lost, clinging to what was and hoping for a future that once seemed so solid and sure.

Do I sink or swim?

Some old ramblings

<written sometime in 2006>

Nobody knows

What is wrong with her

She seems quiet and withdrawn

Depressed even

  • oh that taboo word –

Her wrists show

Gleaming white scars

Signs of recent self mutilation

Inside her head 

Thoughts rush around

In her scrambled mind

Feelings mixed with vigor tumble

Lusting yearning 

To be released 

Spurt out like water 

From a high pressure faucet


She is falling

Not on the physical plane 

But outside reality

Dimensions abruptly bleeding 

Into one another

Time depth width length

Mixing together 

Seeping into reality

Emotions getting confused with actions

Thoughts spiraling through 

All the while 

She’s falling down

And down

Ever moving faster faster until


A noise breaks through 

Her consciousness 

The sharp click of fingers 

Looking up 

Requires so much effort 

On her behalf

So her heavy eyelids 

Drearily opening 

Must suffice

Almost sleeping


Caught in the ugly clutches 

Of misery 

Looking into her eyes 

He tries to catch

A glimpse of troubled soul


But these windows are shut


An expression passes 

Over his face fleetingly

Instinctual recognition

Of her pain

Yet he understands nothing of it

The boy makes no sound

Heard by her ears 

But sits next to her 

Careful not to get too close

Lest she carry some unspeakable disease 

She knows he is there

With no acknowledgement

Yet wishes the boy was somewhere

Not with her

He doesn’t genuinely care for her

This is known

By both silent people

She’s dying 

Locked in a box

Slowly painfully suffocating

She and the boy stare ahead

Each aware yet oblivious to 

The other’s emotions

They hold the key 

But never unlock 

The chained steel box

They forced her into

The key is shiny 

And new in appearance 

Yet is almost as old as time immemorable

They and the boy have cut out

Her heart 

Left the wound gaping



Cascading a fountain of blood 

Soaking her 

But its pretense

A dream

It’s an illusion

In her mind 

As she sits

© myself 

White lines

I found some writing I did a while ago…. Feeling pretty shit today so I thought I’d share it. 
White lines

Of anguish

Of despair

Of loneliness

Crisscross my arms

My wrist

My legs

A pain

So bittersweet

So heartbreaking

So tempting

But I mustn’t

For her

For him

For me

For us

And only white lines remain
© myself 2013

My Metaphoric Universe

The Universe is soup.

Every person, every being, every star, every emanation of energy, everything, is an ingredient in this soup.

Some ingredients influence other ingredients’ flavour.

Some enhance other ingredients, some detract from or mask the flavour of other ingredients.

We are all an important part of the soup – it wouldn’t be the same soup as it is right now if any one ingredient was left out.

We ingredients fight over which flavour should be more potent, which ingredients are more important than the others, over whether the soup was created from scratch, flavour building as each ingredient is added, or whether it was created as is, from a packet mix, over which flavours and ingredients came first…

None of those fights matter. All the ingredients and flavours – together – make the soup what it is.

Universe Soup.

….. or something.