Things Change + A Poem

I made a fairly big call recently. I decided to return to my home town in regional coastal Western Australia. It is a place seething with bad memories, and as I have made very clear on this blog before, the source of much trauma. As I was flying in, I realised something. This isn't a… Continue reading Things Change + A Poem

Desperate Times, Normal Measures – A Poem

Eclipses decorate her flesh in a myriad mess of alluring urges and sorrowful representation of sadness and denial - suppression she says - and painfully visceral confrontation. Disproportionate coping mechanisms and trickling stains and raindrops without an umbrella or a bandage or any real predisposition to stop. What is life, when life is black, when… Continue reading Desperate Times, Normal Measures – A Poem

The Toolkit and First Aid Kit – A Poem

It seems that the more I draw, the more I sketch the sensations that arise from riding this emotional rollercoaster, the more I realise that hands and faces, cannot heal me anymore than my attempts to disfigure the same hands and faces. Self-destruction presents itself in these sketches, and also in starvation, compensation, self-deprecation. It… Continue reading The Toolkit and First Aid Kit – A Poem

These Are Not Flotsam and Jetsam Thoughts – A Poem

These are not flotsam and jetsam thoughts, they do not ebb and flow, they are as constant as the stars and the universe, expanding and contracting like the breath. Tides cannot be turned off, and neither can the tsunami of negativity that swamps me surreptitiously. Caress me Death, I welcome thee, with open arms and… Continue reading These Are Not Flotsam and Jetsam Thoughts – A Poem

An Untitled Poem

Why is it that getting dressed Causes me so much distress? And dresses with pockets are rarer Than any form of self-instigated self-care? Dried blood on my wrists and on my thighs Like a burgundy tattoo that gives me a high. Not to look at, but to feel the pain; This refuge from hurt, is… Continue reading An Untitled Poem

Icarus and the Phoenix – A Poem

I am plummeting, an Icarus without sacred plumage, nor the beauty of a soft dusting of undergrowth, to break my fall. Each time I rise, I am a phoenix, but even phoenixes will finally die. Being engulfed in agony, where I seek shelter, and comfort, and safety, and learn to decorate pain, like A.W. Toad… Continue reading Icarus and the Phoenix – A Poem