Just look at yourself, It can’t be that bad. There must be worse out there, What you’re doing is mad.

But I’m not mad am I, You can see it too. You lie to my face, Act like you do have a clue.

Because, apparently, you can’t see, the shit that I can, the glaringly obvious flaws in God’s plan.

The nose, the teeth, the hair, the brows, the fat, the folds, the lines, the scar, the chest, the stomach, the hips, the waist, and that’s not even going below the bar.

I don’t want eyes on me, I don’t need your rejection. For the simple truth is, I already see all my imperfections.

“The knife belongs to me.” Kyron gripped the door handle tighter, ready to yank the door when he had a chance. He saw red; he could still see the prat’s smirking face across the street; he sought revenge. He was ready to cut, slice and dice his way into them until they begged him for forgiveness!

“You’re not going… put the knife down.” Chris had edged himself between the door and his brother. He was almost a foot taller -and his brother was a runt for his age- but it took all his strength to keep him at arms length. He knew they’d pushed him too far this time. “It ain’t worth it kid. There’s six of them and one of you. You won’t walk away from this; you’re either leaving in a body bag or hand cuffs. I’m telling yah, they ain’t worth it “.

Kyron’s eyes were bloodshot from his tears; he could hardly spit the words out, “Like you care. I ain’t asking you, I’m fucking telling you,” he released his grip of the handle but brought his knife forward, two hands on the grip and directed the sharpened steel towards his brother’s neck, “Get out of my way!”

Since the beginning, I’ve put on a mask, it’s not smiles, laughs, but calm. Collected. A face that lies and says that I’m okay, But what happens if I remove the mask.

Without it I’m cold. Distant. Uncaring. I either love too deeply, or can’t love. A brick wall goes up. High. Strong. Unyielding. Deep down, I hide. I don’t deserve their love.

I almost want my life to be painful. I want to hurt, scream, suffer… but i don’t, not on the outside, where people can see. Something broke, inside of me, years ago.

The shattered glass inside me cuts all near. I’m tired of hurting those around me; I’m tired of feeling empty, in pain; I’m tired of my monotonous life.

Remember that day I danced and twirled, You promised me I could be anything in the world. You called me your daddies little princess, And I was, for a time, shielded from the darkness.

I couldn’t ask for more growing up, My hardest days you’d be there, pancakes with syrup. You walked me down the aisle, hand in hand, We danced, Sinatra, to our favourite band.

We did it our way, me and you, Until one day our foundations fell through. I’m not sure what went wrong, if it was me, But please, pick up, so you can hear my apology.

Georgie could see the last few rays of light fading from the sky and all he could do was watch. He watched the sky like it was something he’d never seen before; a beauty hidden above his world of darkness. He knew it was highly likely this would be the last day he’d see to the end and he wanted to hold onto a least one pleasant memory, a pleasant memory that he couldn’t lose or have to invent.

Slowly, he’s focus shifted forward, away from the outside, to the frame of his 4 X 4 window. Would he notice the shard of glass missing? Would he notice before Georgie had a chance to do something, anything? Georgie spend the next hour in a daydream: fantasising his dream mission of a heroic escape; the moment he’d see his family again; his moment in court where justice would be served.

Abruptly, Georgie was pulled back into the present with a familiar sound: keys and chains. He looked back at the window one last time, inwardly begging something, someone, to give him the strength he knew he didn’t have. ‘Runt!’ The gruff voice came from the shadow blocking the doorway and Georgie knew, without having to turn around, that the beast would have a sickening grin on his face. Reluctantly, Georgie turned to face him. Although skinny in size and young-ish in age, the beast has the strength of ten crazy men when he wanted it; Georgie’s cuts, bruises and breaks could stand witness to that. ‘Don’t underestimate him’, Georgie thought to himself. The smell of stale beer clogging up the air shouldn’t have given Georgie a sense of hope; if anything, he knew it made him more unpredictable.

‘Well Runt, what’re you waiting for, a fucking invitation?’ The beast lingered in the doorway, taking one small step into the tiny basement, grinning, enjoying the winnings of a hunt rather than a meal just handed to him; it was one of the reasons he kept the kid this long: he still continues to fight.

Georgie stumbled back, gripping onto the shards of glass too tightly with his, now bloodied, hand behind his back. He knew the game and didn’t want to play anymore… he allowed the beast to come towards him. The beast didn’t like it; it wasn’t a win if Georgie didn’t lose. He stepped forward and gripped Georgie around the neck, intent on making him squeal another way when something behind the kid caught his eye: the window. He’s eyes flashed back at Georgie, full of fire and excitement but Georgie didn’t wait, he plunged the knife into his chest, mastering as much strength as he could, burying the glass deeper into his own hand as it sank deeper into the beast.

Georgie ran, he ran as quick as he could towards the door, towards the air of the night sky and city, still buzzing with life. He could feel his legs giving way on the stairs but he had strength; he could do this. He got to the door and turned the handle, the handle to an unlocked door! An easy way out! The smell of air was intoxicating, exhilarating. Georgie opened his mouth wide to scream at the top of his lungs so that someone could finally take him away. As he breathed in … he was overcome with darkness. Nothing but pain and confusion, with time drifting by.

Eventually, he’s swollen eyes could just about open and he could feel his wrists shackled to the wall. He eyes we’re all he could move, everything else felt broken, shattered; even breathing induced pain. He’s eyes focused on the room and he could just about make it out: the shadow, grinning teeth, staring eyes. Lingering onto consciousness, Georgie heard the beast almost singing to himself, ‘I told you what would happen if you disobeyed me,’ just before Georgie passed out from the pain.

My Dear Love,

I hope this finds you well, my love. It’s been a hard few weeks for you with your family being unwell and the ongoing secret depression you are harbouring so bravely. I wish, with all my heart, that I could be there to wipe your nightly tears, but I want our first proper meeting to be magical for the both of us.

The shopping trip on Saturday was spontaneous, definitely not on your calendar, but that’s why I love you, my darling, you keep me on my toes. I noticed your new coat, you got a great discount in the shop, and it fits your beautiful curves perfectly. Your old coat is with me, I hope you don’t mind. The smell of your sweet perfume helps me sleep, helps me dream of us and our future where, one day, you’ll be in my arms, rather than mere fragments of your scent. He noticed your new coat too, with his hand placed greedily around your waist. You can always send me a signal, my darling, and I’ll have the authorities on my speed dial. You smile politely when you’re with him but it’s not your real one, not the same smile you have when you’re alone, at least when you think you’re alone, at home. One day, soon, it’ll just be the two of us and we can leave the rest of them and their stupidity behind us. I know I haven’t revealed my name to you yet, and in time, my darling, I will. I just need to make sure you’re ready, and I’m ready, for our journey ahead.

Planning for our future has been a challenge, but for you, I’ll do anything. I wonder if you’ve ever felt the love I feel for you. Not the silly puppy-dog love or playful flirtations I watch you role play with those other immature morons; rather, the internal longing of companionship from that one person you can’t keep away from. Our time is soon approaching us, and we’ll leave those childish antics behind us wont me? You wont need them anymore, you’ll have me… you’ll always have me.

I know I’ve written to you in the past, and I can see your becoming frustrated with the lack of detail I’m providing you. I know, deep down, your longing to write back to me. Soon, my baby, soon you will be. In the meantime, as always, I’ll be watching, waiting, pining for you until the day I’ll finally introduce myself.

Dancing leaves on a pebbled path, The cooling breeze on a dry day, Morning drew on the fresh cut grass, The sun enticing the darling buds of May.

Leaves finally leave their nest, The wind is becoming impatient and pushy, Day backs away, inviting the night in quicker, The heaven begins to release it’s fury.

Bitter hands clasp the world, The sun in-prisoned beyond our reach, Death vultures the sky keeping an eye, Enjoying the hell he is able to unleash.

Finally, the freeze bows out, The air is thick, cold but keen, Nature braves a look around, The world is once more serene.

I looked down at my phone; 10 past 12… she’s running late. I can’t see anyone else in the room but I know they’re here somewhere, just as unenthusiastic and impatient as I am, watching the sun outside the window thinking of all the other things they could be doing. I fiddle with my phone some more, stand up to stretch my legs and reluctant plonk myself back down again. They should have had this set up ages ago! I’m not allowed to be late! I might just leave… I know I can’t though, I can’t miss any more sessions… I here a sound, hopefully look up, but not… the screen says I’m still in the waiting room. I hate online learning…

Here is a wardrobe that symbolises inspiration and depression in not so equal measures. On the outlook you’d see black -fifty shades of black- ranging from baggy to baggier. Whilst many assume it’s a fashion statement, my wardrobe and I know it’s not. The fleeting look I try and avoid in the mirror each morning sends a clear message to all that live in my wardrobe: you are used to hide me in public, not to be warn with pride. The one glimmer of hope is the red number I bought myself, as an optimistic hope for my future self. One day, I will make my wardrobe and me proud, I will choose the red number, hold my head up high and finally own the body I’ve got… but not today.

My last chance to hold your hand; to hear your voice; to feel your breath. My last chance to squeeze you tight; to see your smile; to wipe your tears. My last chance to kiss your cheek; to share a laugh; to memorise your face. My last chance to say goodbye and it’s not enough. Not enough time. Not enough words but my time is up, my chance is slipping. My heart is breaking, “Goodbye mum” and your eyes start fading.