1 word.

I’ve opened the door.

Another word.

I’ve stepped inside.

6 words.

I’ve stumbled forward teetering on the edge.

The edge of the rabbit hole.

A spiral of lies and deception.

I’m building a wall.

A wall of bricks, each brick a false truth.

I veer back.

I open my mouth.

I speak.

I’m gone.

Down the rabbit hole....

“I can’t be with you…”

The words ring in my ears taunting me. They run laps in the maze of my bruised and battered mind. They bounce off the walls and come tumbling down reminding me of what simply being me could cost. Because this is me, even with the mask this is me.

“Why?”

“Because you’ll get hurt and I can’t stand by and watch that happen.”

“I won’t get hurt. I never have before, just a coup...

He’s fiddling with his hair again. That greasy mop of hair he’s been running his fingers through all night. He saw me looking and apologised for his fidgety manner, said it was because of nerves. “No it’s not” I blurt out. Sometimes I forget that dates are typically with strangers and I can’t speak to them how I do a friend. He stares dumbfounded. I croak out an awkward laugh which leaves him no c...

Shoving a clutter of tat into that old worn suitcase, I sigh with defeat. Defeat that only I myself am the cause of. Defeat that I cannot seem to avoid. Life was good. Life is good. I belong here yet somehow something always steers me away from the places and people I love. I had finally grown to fit in somewhere like a right shoe being placed with its left. Because this was right. It was so right...

A house of cards, your exit a gust of wind.

A hurried walk, your leaving a ditch in the ground.

Stumped and startled.

A departure unwelcome.

Angry and confused.

Bitter with loss.

A shoelace that won’t tie with the fray.

A new shoe worn down to nothing.

You would have slipped away in the night.

Fallen through the cracks.

Make a mistake in direction.

Because I would never let you leave.

Not if I c...

Dipping and lulling. Feet wrinkled prunes, fins in progress. I forage the waves in the allies of streams. Torn on branches, gills pulsating I sweep the floor, yet again empty of food. I grapple with the smooth surfaces of scales. Scales that most now possess. Adjusting to the flood, the flood that we call home, we evict the fish that owned these waters and bleed the beds of pavement dry. A dry we ...