No matter how happy and content we feel in our present life circumstances, it always important to keep in mind that the phrase;

This too shall pass

Is not only applicable to the painful and unpleasant moments in life.

It is applicable to all moments in life.

If we could all absorb the concept that nothing whatsoever is concrete and certain, then maybe we would be able to free ourselves and live more fully.

Stop the clinging – you can take any of it with you when you go.



Sometimes i wonder who it is exactly that I’m living my life for.  Are choices based on what i want, or do i make the decisions i make in order to please others?
I know the answer. Of course i know the answer. This is why i have a half sleeve that i hide from certain family members. And why i tend to tell half truths.
I have to live for me. In not doing i actually think i have created the mental chaos i battle with. I am not true to myself.
So i am going to take a deep breath and jump. Following my own path. Its time. Otherwise on death bed i will be filled with regrets.

Keeping track of moods

I’m supposed to be keeping a mood diary. A pretty chart to illustrate the ups and downs, the highs and lows and middle groans.  Funny tho, in an ironic sense. When I’m low is not something I can motivate myself to do. When I’m up its the last thing that would occur to me to do because obviously there is no need I am absolutely fucking fine and it’s all been a misunderstanding.
But I’m not, and it most definitely isn’t. But still I forget to keep a track of my moods.
Right now isn’t good. Right now is shit. And I’m tired, so bloody tired in body and in spirit and in general.
Let me sleep forever. I would like to sleep forever. To wake will always be too soon when I feel this way. Life overwhelms.
I’ll make a chart tomorrow. Maybe.

Remember to live

The centre of the world

the sun in the centre of a bright blue sky

soar up into the clouds

gliding on the wind so high

the light is nigh.

To continue

moving forward step by step

if you manage nothing on this day

but everything as well

remember to breathe

eventually I may tell

but for now i button luscious lips

and sway my hips

as I strut into the night

away and out of sight

up and away with the wind

graceful as a kite.

Keep hold of the string

keep hold with all your might.

I want to escape my own head

Its too noisy
The lights are too bright
Distracted by table 4s conversation
At least 6 feet away to the right
I hold my ears
Shaking my head
I have to go now
Safe haven in my bed
But the traffic still speeds behind my closed eyes
I try to concentrate on my breath
How long do I have to do this
How long is left?
Ask me a question
I snap in irritation
Storm out in to the night
Vow never to come back
Then I realise what an irrational fool I have been
I say I’m sorry a million times
But the word no longer means
Anything. …

Twisted and smiles so false.

It’s not normal, a heart in constant turmoil. Staring a blank screens motor cycle dreams. Speed chaser adrenalin light lasers, shoot for the sky looking up the bullet lands right in the centre of your left eye. Lay down on the road cars rush by, each missing you by inches, if I didn’t laugh at the irony of it all I would most likely cry. If I start I won’t stop, tears fall til the very last drop is spent from my being. Lost in a bright open space. The florescent lights too harsh they highlight the grim. The tipple of tears is gin. The spotlights on you now dear. Do not worry there is so much more to fear.

Almost a year

One thing I have actually kept to. My blog, my writing. I must say I’m rather impressed with myself.  I’m rather notorious for starting things but  changing my mind and then leaving said projects half done and forgotten.
Consistent in my inconsistency. For an illustrated lady with a half sleeve tattoo it seems strange that I can never commit. I committed to a life time of ink upon my skin. Although once it’s on its too late to suddenly change ones mind. I do love tattoos. I love the smell of tattoo studios. I love the sound of the needle and the feeling of it upon my skin.
Random update on the day I shut the whole world out.


Eyes that cry a thousand tears never once turn to rivers in all the years, to suddenly stop unable to wring another drop, frozen like a lake in December. Can I cry I no longer remember. Numb to the core brighten up the crowds implore. I can’t do this anymore. A road map of scars visible on fragile wrists. No blood left there is something a miss.    You lean across offering a bitter sweet  kiss. Tainted and blackened lips. Give that a miss. And now I dismiss. Expelled from my lungs with an aggressive sigh. My breath hangs heavy like grey snow clouds in the sky. Its snows down corpses run for cover and hide. Black tar sticks to the skin tear yourself apart but begin from within. On the outside the painting is immaculate and pristine. If you could only see the death and pain beneath you would do more than scream. This is what I’m trying to say. Yet you don’t comprehend what I mean. Lucky you to go by unseen.


Darkness, black as night, creeps silently.  Inertia she settles, yet she is not welcome here.  Fires of frustration threatening to engulf.  How can I continue forward, I can barely stay afloat.  There is a choice to be made, yet I struggle to decide.  My mind running off in circles, too far and too wide.  Wasted intelligence is the biggest fear, but I really am not meant to be here.  I feel the pull, the tug away from the direction which I felt I ought to take.  A risk to walk away, which I fear maybe too great.  The detriment of which, it may signal my demise.  The blood spilling from the clouds, it falls deep into the skin, saturating my brain, no longer wise.  I want to run, but I have no legs.  I want to scream, but there is no voice left within.  I am afraid I am turning into merely a shell.  Shadow of my being, I fall fast into hell.

Writing is my passion, the one thing I love.  The words on the page save me, like angels sent from above.  Inertia she sweeps, across my bare chest, leaving a heavy weight, leaden upon my breast.  Yet the writing continues to flow like blood from a fresh open wound.  The one thing I can always manage to do. Ironically inertia, and the darkness makes the craft which I hone so much easier to create.  Empty pages are my home.