The Pain Echoes

The Pain Echoes

When the world has gone dark,
And you can't fight anymore,
The pain has an echo,
Down a dark corridoor.

We grab when we drown,
In an ocean of sorrow,
And the water sends ripples,
all the way to tomorrow.

We look to the surface,
For a way back to home,
And we panic and grab,
So we don't sink alone.

My mind is a house,
And it's haunted by fear,
Sometimes it's like the echo,
Is all I can hear.

I'm always grabbing the air,
But it's too far above,
I wish people could see,
That I'm nothing but love.

But I never stop reaching,
Despite it all going black,
I hold on to the hope,
Someone will reach back.

Desperate and gagging,
Running out of air,
I am shocked when I find,
There are many hands there.

And these hands, they catch me,
From the echoing night,
They pull me to shore,
So I can see the light.

The lives of just one,
Intertwined with the few,
I join them in the water,
To save others too.

We don't judge when they
Try to grab others down,
Because we all know,
What it feels like to drown.

Thats why we forgive,
When they've done us wrong,
So that they can see,
What it means to be strong.

Because the heart of one man,
Is as strong as an army,
And yes the pain echos,
But Love's a tsunami.

2018: A Foreword

I think it’s safe to say when came into this year fighting, and we’re leaving it with a limp and two black eyes. I don’t know quite how we’re meant to feel about 2017 ending, but I do know that we are different people now than we were before it.

Let’s start with the elephant in the room shall we? We lost some amazing people this year. People who didn’t deserve to leave us this early. Lost by people who didn’t deserve to lose them. I’ve never known cruelty like it, and I don’t think I believe in God any more. I look back on Christmas just two years ago, before it all went wrong and we were so unaware of how lucky we were. But maybe, someday in the future, we’ll be saying the same of today.

The loss faced this year has really ran a few things home to me. In my life I’ve treat some very good people very badly, and I’ve treat some very bad people very good. But here’s the thing, I’ve learned that there are no bad people. There are only weak people. This doesn’t change the hurt we all have the potential to cause, but it does give us a more honest reflection. I don’t say this from a place of strength, I’ve learned this through experience. Weakness is not about pain, though the two can come hand in hand. Weakness is about surrendering to that pain, and letting it become who you are. This is different from becoming overwhelmed by pain, I don’t think this is surrendering to it but rather drowning in it. Either way, they, you, and everyone else deserves better.

The main thing in mind is what my goals will be for 2018. Is it possible to salvage it from the aftershocks of this year? I’m not sure it is, and to be honest I’m not sure I want to. I don’t want to sweep it all aside. I want to keep the things I’ve learned from people in my toolkit, I have a feeling I’ll need it. 2018 is venturing into the unknown, which once I would have found exciting, but now it feels somewhat daunting. I’ve made a lot of progress, on and off for the past year. I’m discovering who I am, which has required a lot of digging through layers of insecurity and defence mechanisms then crawling my way back out again. Which, in itself is difficult. But, it is by no means the beginning and end of the journey. It can be a very painful journey to discover some very simple truths; the main one being that I am human.

For far too long I have ran my life around my ego, and then the damage I’ve caused in trying to protect it. I know I am far from alone in this, but when it comes to specifics we are often left feeling alone. I’ve been set on self destruct for a long time and was determined to take people with me. I’ve been very angry with myself for a long time. I’ve been very angry with the world. I still get angry looking back on times my vulnerability was exploited. Or times I exploited it in others. I still get angry full stop. But, despite what that dark part of my mind tries to tell me, these things do not define me. We do what we can in difficult periods of our lives with the tools we have at that time. You are weak before you are strong. When you’ve clawed your way out of a hole just to worry about the dirt under your fingernails then you have missed the point.

I want to let you all know that the only thing any of us can do is to go into 2018 with the intention of growing as people, and helping each other to do so. We have to let go of anything that stops us from being able to do that. Let go. Forgive. Love. It’s all we can do. I will always miss my nana. I will always miss Jordan. I will always miss Hogie. The losses still stop my in my tracks and takes my breath away with the sheer shock of it. How can everything just turn to nothing? It’s unfathomable. But there is no denying these were beautiful people. They led beautiful lives despite the ending. They were loved fiercely and always will be. Their contributions to my life have been absolutely priceless and I feel so blessed to have had them close to me. I don’t know where we will meet again and I don’t know what this is the foreword to, but I do know that thanks to you all (here or not), I am ready to find out.

Dermatillomania

They say that beauty is skin deep,
I have tried to scratch and pick my way there,
But so far have been unsuccessful.

I keep wondering why I never get better,
As I pick away at the parts of me that are trying to heal,
One scab at a time.

When I encounter any mild inconvenience,
I take it as a cue to kill my cuticle,
Until my fingertips remind me it is painful to hold on.

I have sometimes left claw marks on my skin,
That are perhaps me trying to contact my soul from the outside,
Using anxiety and fingernails as a makeshift hammer and chisel.

When the hands can't take anymore I'll move on,
Base of the feet slowly heals in high heels,
Sceptic hands, sceptic feet, sceptic life.

But if there is one thing I've learned from this,
It's that you can pick yourself apart as much as you like,
And you will still continue to heal.

This gives me hope.

Anxiety and Me: A Love Story

Anxiety and Me: A Love Story

One night I asked my anxiety, "if you love me, why do you hurt me?" It said love hurts. It said everything hurts. It says it hurts me to make me tough. It says I'm vulnerable so it is trying to be my armour. I asked it, "if you're my armour then why do things still hurt me?" It said love hurts. It said everything hurts.

2013

2013

Hail Mary full of vodka,
You're the viper in the farmers coat.
The scorpion on the frogs back,
Stinging him to kill them both.

The lord is with you,
And there are rumours spreading,
We read it on your Facebook,
And we all know where you're heading.

Blessed art though amongst junkies,
Hammered upon the cross.
Their life is a broken vase,
Thats broken parts you wash.

Blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
While Sylvia Plaths figs are falling.
The night ends up an empty street,
With distant voices calling.

Jesus, holy Mary.
Do you know who you are?
Do you know what you've taken?
Do you know why you're in his car?

Mother of God, pray for us wasters,
Not that it matters to us.
Please forgive me for every time,
I've given in to lust.

Now and at the hour of death,
Please save me from them,
Please do not give up on me,
Just please save me- Amen.

Life out of Sync: Part II

“Synchronicity is a concept, first explained by psychiatrist Carl Jung, which holds that events are "meaningful coincidences" if they occur with no causal relationship, yet seem to be meaningfully related.”

All my life I’ve been out of sync.

My nana sewed my name into my towel for swimming lessons in first school.

I thought that I had to manipulate people into loving me.

If you aren’t somewhat insane to begin with, don’t worry, life will make sure  you are by the end. The mind is like a cork board with a map of the world on, pins keeping strings of yarn attached to faces and news headlines (however false they may be.) It starts out as a way of finding where  you fit in the world and trying to find SOME method to the madness but of course, it’s not  there.

Amongst the lines of yarn you can at least piece together an approximate picture of who you are. Riddles within conspiracy theories you can fall into endless questioning and next to no real answers. Is it good to be me?

The lines of yarn keep going attaching to more and more things until it makes less and less sense. Until it’s branches away from the cork board and reaches out to you and grabs you be the neck and chokes you as if it’s waiting for you to say a safe word you don’t know.

Hey, how long is a piece of string? However long you want it to be.

Before you know it, you can’t see the world behind it. The answer is lost and we totally forgot what the question was. You started out with the whole world in view, and unless you’re an astronaut, you never really left it. And it never left you.

In the yin yang the light in the dark is almost swimming towards the dark in the light. They long for each other. Not only is that happening within you but it is happening all over the world.

There is a Native American proverb you’ve probably heard that we have two wolves inside of us. One is evil, one is good. Which wolf wins? The one you feed. I think though, it might be understandable for a wolf to be pissed and bite if you never feed it. Told my friend most of this today and he said his favourite shirt is one with a wolf and a yin yang. Gotta love that synchronicity right?

I think, when you look at what was always there, it can be hard to see those still struggling. There is a lot of fear that keeps a lot people in a lot of places. It’s understandable. We go in all these directions not because we think anything of value is there but just so that we can’t see what is underneath it. But I want to tell you it’s always there. When the yarn seems to go nowhere. It’s all yours. Even if you lit a match and burned this entire metaphor to the ground. The world is still there. It loves you and will welcome you back, trust me.

I used to think I had to manipulate people into loving me,

But my nana used to sew my name into my towel for swimming lessons in first school,

It’s just that all my life, I’ve been out of sync.

Outsider

Outsider

I'd heard a story once about an aristocrat who made a bet with his friend at his stately home regarding which of two raindrops would make it to the bottom of the window first. It is rumored the stake was £3000. I'd always thought of this as pretty reckless but lately I have come to view it in a more light-hearted manner. Rather than an example of the man's frivolousness, I see it as him having the intelligence to know money is worthless. Most things are, now that I think of it. Everything is up to chance.
I picked two raindrops on the window and made a choice. Watching them both race to be the winner I wasn't sure which one I wanted to win. I suppose deep down it didn't really matter to me. Not much from this moment on did. But when the raindrop furthest to the right reached the bottom window pain first I couldn't help but feel a little bit relieved. Then I picked up the phone.

"Hello? Yes, ambulance please. My husband has just fallen down the stairs. He isn't breathing and his head is bleeding. Please come quickly."

-

I found the funeral somewhat awkward. That seems really silly to say. Are funerals supposed to be awkward? Or just sad. I wasn't sure what was appropriate. Most, if not all the people who attended were people I hadn't seen in years. They felt like it was okay to ask me things and hug me when I didn't even want them to touch me. I didn't want to miss him. I winced when they talked about how happy we were together. It was unfair of me, how could they have known? They knew him as the toddler just learning to walk. Who was always happy to see them. The teenager who didn't work hard enough at school but worked hard at everything else. They knew him as he was, a human being. With redeeming qualities and glaring flaws. But a beautiful, worthy human being. Who was now dead. 

I tried to focus on this one fact, despite what had happened there was something in me wanted to survive. Even before that day. There was something made me wake up in the morning and get out of bed. Something more than the threat of pain, stronger than that. I knew, on some level this was a good thing. But how could it cause this much pain? 

That part of me, it spoke to me. It reminded me of the tenseness in my shoulders every day as his car parked up on the driveway. The questions with no right answers. Hands across my throat. Isolation from everyone. Heartbreak. My life, our life together, the funeral was all an echo chamber of pain. Not a pain I'd encountered in a long time though. Not a pain that shouted and spat poison or brandished weapons. A pain that was completely and utterly human. But another voice, another voice reminded me that when I pushed him, he was holding a bouquet of pink roses.

On my way out of the funeral to an empty bed. His sister tapped on my shoulder. She told me she was sorry which almost made me smirk. Said it was a real tragedy, people fall down the stairs everyday. Why did it have to take her brother? I agreed. She told me if I ever needed anything to call her. Didn't want me to be lonely, as if that had mattered before. This is why I hated small talk, I'm pretty sure on some level everyone does. It's so banal and insincere. I still felt this even though I hadn't experienced it in years. It was somewhat nice to be reminded. She asked for my phone number and told me that she was having friends over from Australia in a couple of months and that I should go meet them and maybe spend some time together. I nearly smirked again, but to my surprise it was genuine. 

-

When I got home that night I went straight to bed. I kept thinking about what his sister had said to me and found myself mentally planning. I was thinking about hairdressers, manicures, makeup. It excited me. I hadn't been able to think about myself in this way for a long time. It reminded me of my old self. Then I realised, my main thoughts after my own husbands funeral were for how excited I was to get a haircut for myself. Suddenly I didn't care about a haircut, I didn't care about a party. Now it was all over, I couldn't avoid the fact that he was gone. I couldn't avoid the fact I missed him. I missed the bruises so much.

That night I had a dream that I was dressed up in a green dress walking to his sisters house. I could hear dogs barking in the distance and suddenly I felt like something was wrong. I grabbed onto the nearest fence post and leaned over to wretch. But no vomit came out, only pink rose petals.

-

A month or so later his sister called, she asked if I was still interested in going for dinner and a few drinks at hers. I told her I was, and thanked her for checking up on me. I couldn't quite put my finger on why I had been so excited for her to call, but I was just glad she did. I spent that afternoon on the phone to different salons making appointment after appointment. I had never been in charge of my own finances before but had found I could save up easily. I hadn't left the house since the funeral and clutter was really starting to pile up but this didn't bother me. I had always found the house so sterile and uncomfortable before. I had spent most of my days making microwave meals and waiting by the phone. 

My first venture out of the house was to the local pharmacy. Their makeup selection was decent and I thought it would be a good start. Although I had been excited I found myself dumbfounded looking at all the colours on display. I realised then that I had little to no idea who I was or what I liked. One of the workers caught me looking confused, she must have recognised me as she had a sympathetic manner about her as she asked me if I needed help. Normally this would make me feel somewhat uncomfortable but I used it to my advantage, playing up to it until she'd helped me pick out a whole new makeup set that would suit me. 

That night I decided to test out my new makeup. I pushed all of the used cans and plates off of the dressing table and sat facing the mirror. Looking at myself from a superficial angle was a novelty. I liked that I was thinner but I definitely looked empty. I wasn't sure how one could look empty until now, despite being inside my own head I couldn't read the face looking back at me. There was something eerie about it. 

I started with my foundation and was happy to see it was the right shade, the lady at the pharmacy had really come in useful. I dabbed it on gently across my face and saw an instant improvement. The more makeup I put on the better I felt. My application skills weren't the best, but I definitely liked what I saw.

For a moment I thought about grey skies. I heard the same dog barks from my dream and felt a chill come over me as if the breeze had made it inside the house. When I looked back at the mirror, there was lipstick all across my face, drawn into a giant, clownish smile. Eyeliner scribbled across my forehead. I decided to wipe it all off and go to bed.

-

At some point I decided what I enjoyed about all of this beauty regime stuff was the escape. I didn't mean escape in a bad way but I had the desperate need to leave the old me behind. I felt I'd been given a chance to do so via raindrop. I liked the idea that this new me had been invited into this women's home, possibly even invited to be a part of her life. This warmed my heart.

I liked the feeling of changing, I tried to think of it less as escaping and more as progressing. I had been growing worried about myself in the days spent alone in the house. Time seemed to escape from me. I had nightmares every night. I saw that as a sign that I definitely needed to do something, to reach out and escape/progress. A new, tanned, blonde haired 2.0 version of myself.

That night I had a dream of myself in the back garden of a house. My face with the clownish makeup was watching me from one of the downstairs windows. I tried to walk towards it but my feet were heavy. I fell over and the grass engulfed me until I drowned in it. It reached into my mouth and my nose choking me. I woke up struggling to breathe. 

-

At the party it became immediately apparent how behind I was in terms of social skills compared to everyone else there. This had really worried me at the beginning of the night but as it went on I felt more connected with them all. His sisters friends were very funny, interesting people. It was easy to see why she was friends with them and kept in contact, and vice versa. They were a couple named Shaun and Gina. This feeling of connecting with other people filled a hole in my being. I felt that whatever had happened, I was happy to be there. They were welcoming to me, receptive of me. They appreciated the hard work I had put in to conform.

I clocked his sisters role as the group party animal pretty early on. She definitely drank the most out of everybody, not unlike her brother. Shaun was a joker, Gina sat not drinking the whole night. I didn't question it, I somewhat understood. She always included me in conversation and I appreciated it. I liked watching them all interact, being happy in each others presence. Genuinely laughing at each others jokes. 

His sister ended up getting very drunk. From Gina and Shaun's reaction I could tell this was to be expected. Shaun made a joke about having spiked her drink causing Gina to raise her eyebrow at him. His sister leaned over the coffee table and asked how she did that. She seemed really impressed by the fact her friend could raise her eyebrow. She turned to Shaun and asked if he could do it. But he already was. She asked if she could do it herself and as well she could, with a little effort. 

Then they turned to me.

His sister asked me if I could and I giggled out of nervousness and realised I was trapped. I wasn't sure if I could or not. I furrowed my brow in an attempt and they all laughed at me, not with me as I had felt before.

"I guess you're the outsider here." Laughed his sister. My heart dropped. I felt breeze across my skin and shivered. Next thing I know his sister is slumped in her chair crying her heart out.

"What happened?" I ask her friends. They told me she was just upset about her brother. Apparently she had been talking about him for the past hour. We all decided she had had too much and it was probably time for her to go to bed. I took my cue to leave. They told me to stay but I said I couldn't. They asked if I wanted them to call a taxi but I told them that was fine. I was used to the cold.

-

The outsider. I didn't like that at all. Outsider. Walking home outside as an outsider. Dogs barking. Grey skies. Long grass. Rose petals. Outside. An open space you can't escape. Looking in. I felt cold. I needed to get home. I didn't want to be outside any more. 

When I arrived home, I went upstairs and grabbed the mirror. I put it on the floor against the wall and sat in front of it. I could do this.

Furrowing my brow I willed my eyebrow to go up. I did this again and again. I did this until I had a headache. I did this until the sun came up. I did this until all I was doing was staring at myself from the outside of the glass.

-

You've never mentioned their names once. His or his sisters. Does this mean you don't care, or that you're a coward? Neither of which are new to you though are they. No, not at all.

But then there is her. Not only have you not mentioned her name. You haven't mentioned her at all. It's not surprising that you would want to forget. That's typical, cowardly you. But you do remember. You remember her coming home from school crying every day. You remember the rumours. The infamous photo. All of your friends at school used to tease you. The girl in the photo's sister. Whatever they thought of her, they thought of you by proxy.

Most of the kids in your year at middle school had never seen that kind of thing before. Imagine that, your own sister being the first pair of tits and pussy most of the kids you went to school with had seen. How mortifying. She felt bad though, she felt so bad.

After coming home from school she would always go up to her room wouldn't she? Your parents stopped asking how school went because they already knew the answer. They would spend a lot of time in her room talking with her. Trying anything to cheer her up. They talked about moving. They talked about GP's and counselling. They talked about getting the police to do a talk in her high school. But would that make it worse? How could it be any worse.

One day while your parents were at work you both had an argument didn't you? What was it about? It seems to matter so little now doesn't it. But you just had to have the last word. You called her a slag, nothing she hadn't heard before. You told her to kill herself. And she did. You got the last word.

When you came down from your room to find the body hanging in the kitchen you almost didn't recognise it. It didn't register as real. It still doesn't. What did you do? You sat down. You sat and cried, not moving for hours until your parents came home. They found you passed out in a puddle of your own piss beside their swollen blue faced angel. 

You told them what happened, and for some reason you expected comfort. But it never came. It never  came at all. From that moment on you were an outsider. You and your sister had shared a room but your parents wanted it left completely untainted. Untainted by anyone, especially you. They wanted to cling so desperately to what little comfort they had left. So they put a mattress in the shed outside. There was a sense you were lucky to even have that.

When the skies went grey at night that's when you knew it was time to go outside. It was cold. It was always cold. You'd have to wade through the tall grass to the shed. The whole of the back garden had been completely forgotten about. Just like you. At night there was no escape from the demons. You slept to the sound of the dogs barking in the distance. You would wake up in the night to see a bloated blue angel hanging above you in the dark.

Meals were eaten in silence. Birthdays were uncelebrated. You came in from the cold outside but found no warmth inside either. You were clearly begrudged. You don't blame them, you never did. It was a haunted house and they were ghosts too. The kids still teased you at school but it was somehow worse now that she wasn't going to be home when it ended. To these kids she wasn't a human, she was a commodity. You were an outsider.

That's why you really pushed him down the stairs wasn't it? It wasn't the beatings. It wasn't the constant mental torture. That's the product you'd bought. The problem was it wasn't enough any more. He just wasn't hitting hard enough to keep up with the pain. He couldn't reach your heart with his words, good or bad. He didn't love you enough to make it hurt any more. 

-

I came to with my forehead against the glass. As I pulled my head away I felt the wound and dry blood tear from each other. Dragging shards of glass out of my skin with it. I looked at myself in the cracked mirror. Most people don't know this but breaking a mirror in itself isn't bad luck. But looking at your reflection in the cracks is. But it looked better this way. A true reflection. I watched two beads of blood make their way down the mirror, watching which one would win. Again, the one furthest to the right. Bad luck.

-

I'm washing the dishes when I realise, I haven't heard from Kate since the get together at mine. I instantly feel guilty for not making more effort. I should really have made sure she made it home okay. I feel like such an idiot for whining on and on about Greg. That was probably the last thing she needed to hear. I go to the phone to give her a ring but there is no answer. I think perhaps it is better for me to pay her a visit in person. See how she's coping.

It gets to around six o'clock and I decide I should visit her before I have my tea or it would be too late. It seems a shame I don't know much about her. In the car on the way there I think about the last time I saw her. It was a definite difference from the funeral. I suppose it's good that she is looking after herself and getting out. She had seemed rather shy but I guess that was to be expected. I hadn't seen her since her and Greg's wedding. She never talked much even then.

As I pull up and walk up the garden path I notice the door isn't fully shut. She probably hasn't realised. I open it and an awful stench hits me. I suddenly feel very nervous. I continue to open the door slowly calling on Kate but there is no answer. I decide to go in and I find myself absolutely horrified at the mess.

Now, I'm no domestic Goddess myself but it is obvious to me that Kate is definitely not coping at all. There are piles of clothes and rubbish stacked all over the place. No wonder it smells so bad. I realise I should have definitely checked up on Kate earlier. Obviously nobody else is making sure she is okay. I check round all of downstairs but can't see her so I head upstairs. As I do I can't help but imagine Greg's last moments being right where I'm stood. Something about this place has a very bad vibe.

All the doors upstairs are open except the bedroom. I hesitate for a moment as she is probably asleep. What if she has work or something the next day? I don't want to frighten her. But then again, I really want her to know I popped round. Perhaps she'll be more inclined to ask for help when she needs it if she knows I do care.

I creak open the door and all I can do is stand there. Kate is sat slumped against a mirror leaning on the wall. The room stinks of stale urine and I notice the stain on the carpet surrounding Kate. I wrinkle my nose and call out her name but she doesn't respond. I take a deep breath and hold it as I walk towards her. I shake her shoulder but it is cold. She is pale and not breathing. It clicks in my head what is happening and I go numb. For some reason I feel I should lie her on her back. I pull her away from the mirror and I see it is smashed and there are shards of glass in her face. But then I notice something else. There is a sewing needle and thread in front of her, and through the blood I can see she had stitched a part of her face. Her right eyebrow is sewn upwards into a permanent arch. 

Kicking and Screaming

People love like they’re being dragged into it

Kicking and screaming.

We fall in love, we fall through it.

Like it’s the window on the top story of a tall building

And we are stuck in a boring meeting.

I hear you always die before you hit the ground though.

We love like the last drop of alcohol in the glass

As if when we take a sip we’re going to be told it was poison

And we’ll just smirk and say “Perfect.”

We love like a phone in a gutter after a Saturday night

With a hundred text messages saved to drafts, unsent.

We love like

Overturned ambulances,

Loose springs on mattresses,

Starving dogs trained to bite.

We love like

The model in a makeup advertisement

Loves to see her airbrushed face on a building

Before she goes home

And looks at her face

In the mirror.

I love like the vicar

Loves their sip of wine on a Sunday.

We love like we’re trying to convince ourselves

That we shouldn’t hate ourselves as much

Because somebody loves us

But really we just want to love them

as much as we hate ourselves.

We love like we’re being dragged into it kicking and screaming.

New Facebook Page

Hello everyone!

This is just a post to tell you 'Life out of Sync' now has a  Facebook page! I felt this would be an easier way for people to stay up-to-date with my blog so please give it a like :)

I will also be posting regular quotes I come across and anything literature related I think would interest people.

Onwards and upwards from here! Thank you all so much for your continued support!

Paige x

Shining

Some days I am an elevator

filled with blood

and when anybody wants to use me

I bleed right in to them

as they run away screaming

and I close my doors for the last fucking time

I swear it, the last fucking time

until somebody else presses my buttons.

Some days I am the mirror

watching you pick away at yourself

staring until you look like a mosaic 

made of tiles of self loathing and disgust

and I want to reach out and tell you

you're beautiful

forgetting I am the one doing this to you.

Some days I am an unwashed duvet

intimately protecting someone for a night

when they don't care that I am disheveled 

until they wake up in the morning 

with a cinder-block for a head 

and a laboratory of corrosive chemicals for a stomach

and they never need me again

Some days I am the crack of sunshine coming through the blinds

making the day worth getting up for

a beam of warmth within myself

the subconscious part of me telling myself to wake up

make it through today, I will keep you warm.

I will drive you to work and feed you

and I will comfort you whenever you need it.

So please wake up.

The Bridge

I stood at the railing and stared downward. The water below was so still that I wondered how it could guarantee death. 

I contemplated the past few months, the amount of pain I’d been through had been almost unbearable. In fact, it had been unbearable. I stared out at the distance at the still lake. How could the lake remain calm next to this much pain? Was there any such thing as pathetic fallacy outside of books? Well, I knew this was pathetic and recently it had felt like hope was one big fallacy.

I started to think of the funeral, the amount of people, the tension in the air despite the kind words. The uncomfortable feeling that things would never be the same. I was more than aware of that. I knew things would never be the same. Fact of the matter is I didn’t understand life anymore and I knew I could not carry on as normal. There would always be a weight on my back that I could never shift. 

The weird thing about it is, I had always thought of life as a beautiful thing. I think that’s why I had lived the way I had but my fatal mistake came in not noticing when I’d crossed my own boundaries. I was scared to settle down, I knew deep down I was not stable enough and that it was a recipe for disaster. What kind of father only tells his daughter he loves her after he has stumbled in at one o’clock in the morning stinking of Jack Daniels? Sometimes you don’t always choose the things you love most and although I loved her more than anything I still chose Jack Daniels.

Although stood here it was difficult, I had to think of the good times. I had caught my wife practicing her smile in the mirror. I remember that same smile on my daughters face when she first met Santa Clause at the Christmas festival. I remember her first (sort of) word. I remember her tentative first steps holding on to a trolley. I remember my own mother telling me I would always have a home there and that she loved me. I remember my daughter crying into my arms as I told her I wasn’t mad I was just worried and feeling that unconditional need to protect her.

Ouch.

Remembering that last one took me back a few steps, staring down again at the lake I could imagine the pain surging through her heart already. Everything in me told me to go back, to do better, and to be stronger but I couldn't right now. One thing I’d learned is that sometimes pain is there to teach you a lesson and sometimes it is just there like an appendix with the on-going potential to burst.

I had been through almost every emotion a human being possibly could. I had been mad at my family, I had been mad at the entire town, I had been mad at God. I had most of all been mad at myself. We have different ways of acting when it comes to life changing and my first was anger. Actually, perhaps anger isn’t the right word. Maybe it was misdirected despair. I don't know or care anymore.

I had been through depression, I had counted the many reasons I should be depressed every night. My dreams were haunted, my life was haunted. I couldn’t turn anywhere without there being a reminder of just how desperately miserable I am. Every morning was like head butting a brick wall, a brick wall ten foot high. It hurt to breathe as it seemed pointless. I didn’t deserve the air.

After depression came complete numbness, which in its own way was a relief but in others it was even worse. I was impervious to the help offered by others. I would sit in the same chair all day just staring out the window not allowing anything to break my concentration. I knew I was hurting everyone around me but there was nothing I could do. Every move was an ache in my muscle that reminded me there was blood pumping around my body and thus reminding me I had a heart, and that it was breaking.

I put one hand on the railing and despite it being a mildly warm day the metal bar still left a chill on my palm. Perhaps it was nature’s way of warning me to stand back. In my pocket I took out a picture of my daughter, I had enough time in the world here to stand and think. She was my world and the one thing that made it hurt to stand here but I just needed to feel something, anything. The picture I had was her most recent high school picture. The longer I looked at it the more I convinced myself I could see pain in her eyes. She had an endearing smile, a snaggle tooth on the right side of her mouth she’d had since first school. She begged for braces but I was always hesitant as that snaggle tooth had become a part of her and every time she smiled it was a reminder that she was my little girl.

I remember her asking me about heaven, she had a fascination with the supernatural so I had told her I’d let her know. She smiled at this and I held her close. She had always had a huge capacity for love.

When you watch your family get older and change it is a very difficult thing, it’s difficult to keep a marriage going and keep it strong and you often worry you’re staying out of comfort rather than love. Standing here I knew I loved my wife. Despite the arguments and the poison we spat at each other, I loved every single thing about her and I ached at the thought of her in pain. But I needed this. Seeing my daughter grow up and become distant was difficult, she was either erratic or withdrawn or somehow both. It took me to now to realise she had a penchant for long sleeved shirts and I worked out why. I blamed myself for that, I blamed myself for everything.

I thought back on everything in my life, from my very first memory of my mother reading me a Noah’s ark book. I thought of first school crying because my first milk tooth had fallen out and I didn’t understand why and I had visions of having to wear dentures like my grandfather. My middle school years where I had my first crush, cringing at the memory of that first awkward kiss. My high school and college years where I really blossomed and I think that was where my thirst for life began. Maybe I reached my peak too soon and I had lived the rest of my life trying to get that back whilst also slowly losing hope that I would. I remember my wedding and although it was one of the best days of my life, the adrenaline was ten that of a  man  doing bungee jump. Bungee jump. Jump.


I took my hand off the railing and held the other side of the picture of my daughter. “I’m so sorry” I said. “I wish things could be different but they aren’t. Please forgive me.”



And with that, I knelt down to pick up the urn and scattered her ashes over the railings and placed the picture next to the flowers below me. I reached into my other pocket and pulled out a note “To my beautiful girl, I hope you are now free from pain. Please tell me what heaven is like. Love, dad”

Sound

When she was a little girl she used to hear shouting and crying all the time.

She would hide under her blanket with her fingers in her ear and wish that the world was silent.

Every day she would go to school and people would ask too many questions she wouldn't answer.

They thought that she didn't because she couldn't they didn’t realise it was because she wouldn’t

because all she wanted was silence.

When she started going to doctors there was no more shouting,

Just the almost unbearable sound of her mother crying as there was nobody left to shout at.

The doctors saw she was in her own world and put her on a spectrum,

Because the mind is a piece of glass that does incredible things with light,

But can only do so much with sound.

The first time loud noises ever made her feel anything was the bass in a dark crowded room,

Everybody was shouting at each other because it was their turn to shout.

The shouting was better than the screaming because once you scream you never stop.

Everybody was talking over her and even when she was talking she was talking over herself,

Because her mother told her never to talk to strangers.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder but she’d never met silence to distance from it

And these days she was not entirely sure she was fond of the unknown

So she found comfort in the sound of the stray dog barking outside her home

Because she imagined it was calling for its missed owner

Find me, find me, find me.

The world let her mother down one last time as they lowered her coffin into the ground,

The rain sounded like static making her think she was losing signal with the world

She doesn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that everyone around her looked slightly relieved

She was dying long before she was dying, and it occurred to her now that her mother was silent

all she wanted was to hear her crying.

Smashes of empty bottles, creaking of a car door opening, Car door slamming,

Rev of the engine, Boom of the stereo, car horns honking,

Splashes of rain interrupted by squeaking of windscreen wipers

Buzzing thoughts interrupted by screeching of tyres, crash, screaming,

Car alarms, sirens. Beep, beep, beep.

They’re called senses because they help us make sense of the world,

And the world had always been somewhat overwhelming,

They told her she was lucky to be alive despite the damage she did.
No amount of sign language was going to make anything make sense again,

Because now her world is silent, and its deafening.

Creak

He told me he faced his demons once,

and now he checks for where the creaks are

in every floorboard.

So he can hear,

when they're coming for him.

Six word stories

i. Be nice all the fucking time

ii. Someday you'll cry, and I'll smile

iii. I am worth staying awake for

iv. if you're happy, then I'm happy

v. I am being ironic, I swear

vi. Hearing about peoples dreams is boring

vii. Kiss me like you're a vampire

viii. Dark comedy with strong female lead

ix. Don't cry, it's not considered attractive

X. You tasted like an ashtray anyways.

XI. You make me afraid of dying.

Whatever

umbrellas in the sun,
bikinis in the rain,
meds for your happiness,
and bruises for your pain.

Withheld breaths and graveyards
crossing fingers, telling lies.
Trying to cross the road
after you've shut both your eyes.

The warning on the cigarette packet,
are promises you hope.
Ad hominem straw men,
"it's a very slippery slope."

Girls with angry faces,
heart clenched like a fist,
the best feeling in the world
is not wanting to exist.

Perfectly poised gentlemen,
calling women bitches.
I for one, do not care
as long as they like my pictures.

It doesn't matter if you're thin
if you can't let go of your thickness
and yes the world will keep on turning
even if you get motion sickness.

Routine

She has the same routine every morning,

She wakes up, sits on the edge of her bed and looks out the window to see what the weather is like. She believes she can always judge how a day is going to go by what colour the sky is. Today it is a pale grey. She decides to be optimistic and call it silver, that would mean today would be okay.

She puts on her slippers and her dressing gown and shuffles towards the door. It occurred to her, as it does every morning, that there is really no need to close her door at night as there is nobody else in the house.

She shuffles to the kitchen and presses the switch on the kettle, when nothing happens she realises she hasn't turned it on at the wall. This is another thing she does every morning.

She makes herself a cup of tea, she dips the teabag three times for luck before she squeezes it with her spoon. She pays special attention to the way the tea flavoring spreads through the water, like smoke.

While she is waiting for the tea to cool down, she goes into the cupboard and gets a bottle of cat milk, it is only when she looks into that corner of the kitchen she remembers that Charlie isn't there anymore.  She shakes it from her mind and goes back to her cup of tea. She holds it by the handle and shuffles through to the living room, her hands are shaking dripping tea down her pink fuzzy dressing gown. She has flashbacks of when her daughter bought it for her. That was the winter her heater broke and it took two weeks for the council to send someone round to fix it.

The heater is fixed now, but she still likes to wear it because it is special to her.

She sits down, slowly, and puts the cup of tea on the table next to her. The remote is on the left arm of the chair where she left it. She turns on the TV and waits, half an hour until her show.

She sits through a hospital drama, in it a young girl is lying on a hospital bed and the doctors look at each other and try to look like this is second nature to them now. “This is the third overdose we've had this week, I swear this city is hopeless.” The senior doctor says as he leaves the room to see the girl’s mother sat outside. He is only able to get out the words “I’m sorry” before she waves her hand shushing him and thanks him. The mother keeps her composure as she walks outside to get some air. She goes and finds a quiet spot behind some bins and bashes her head against the wall screaming.

It suddenly occurs to our protagonist that this is very heavy viewing for a Sunday morning. She checks the clock and it's only 15 minutes until her show starts and another 20 until the home helper turns up to make her breakfast.

She patiently sits through adverts for central heating, life insurance, drug awareness and Tetley tea. Every time an advertisement finishes she glances back at the clock checking how long it is until her show is on.

She edges forward on her seat as the opening tune comes on and a young brunette smiles at the camera. “Good morning! Its Ava Christen here with the weather.  As I’m sure you've all noticed we have a lovely silver sky today. With any luck the showers of the past few days have left and it’s not much longer until we have some nice sunshine! I think we’ll all be happy once the showers are gone and we can enjoy the sun!”

She hears the door burst open and is frightened for a moment before she remembers the home helper is expected around this time. The home helper bursts into the door with a shrill “helloooo Siobhan, how are we this morning?”

“I’m good; I made myself a cup of tea this morning.”

“Siobhan! Now you know fine well you’re not supposed to use the kettle by yourself! You should have waited for me”

“I wanted to have a cup of tea for when my TV show came on, look, that’s my daughter you know, she is a news presenter.”

The home helper looks at the TV and furrows her brow

“Siobhan, the TV isn't on”

“Yes it is! Can you not see the news is on? That girl with the brown hair, Ava Christen, that’s my daughter. She’s a news presenter”

“Siobhan, your daughter isn't on the TV. The TV isn't even turned on. Do you not remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Your daughter died of a drug overdose 5 years ago. Your memory hasn't been so good since that day because you gave yourself a head injury outside the hospital. Age hasn't helped mind you. Your tea must be cold do you want another?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? You want breakfast? What do you want for breakfa-“

“No.”

The home helper stands up and goes into the kitchen, Siobhan can hear the clanking of plates. She hates it when people don’t listen to her. She runs her hands up her arms to feel the fabric of the dressing gown and she holds herself as if she wants to keep the memory locked inside with her.

The home helper brings in a plate of scrambled egg and tries to make light conversation, but Siobhan ignores her and doesn't take her eyes off of the blank TV screen. Eventually the home helper gives up and leaves sighing heavily.

Siobhan doesn't eat the eggs, in fact she doesn't do anything that day. She doesn't even leave the chair. She just sits watching the blank screen all day.

When it starts to get dark she heads up to bed, she changes her night gown and shuffles to the door, she thinks to herself she needs her sleep tonight so she is going to shut the door to stop her cat Charlie from coming in and waking her up licking her face.

She slowly sets herself down in the bed and gets herself as comfortable as possible under the covers. She realises how hungry she is and wonders why the home helper didn't make her breakfast. Mid concern she falls asleep.

She has the same routine every morning,

She wakes up, sits on the edge of her bed and looks out the window to see what the weather is like.

Drunk on the internet

Disclaimer: This poem was written using http://what-would-i-say.com which is a random status generator using everything you've posted on Facebook. I basically just let it write this (skipping the more nonsensical ones.) The finished product I thought sounded like drunken drawl. Enjoy!

Its getting her go, god bless us, all checking my underwear in Ashington, getting drunk 24/7 Paige disposes of hearing their names Paige disposes of you truth and thats my problem is nothing to give me Making new trend of girls proudly declaring they’re not Nothing in I can add to break it it doesn't MATTER yeah I'd say so instead of accepting that I don't think I don't know what to you no, it does them It’s getting my own happiness. I don't mean. I don't ask. I don’t speak. I don't make fun. Drowning in old enough, I don't want human blood. I don't know what I am somebody said they love how did You will feel kinda crappy for complaining about, no matter what is it. I don't care. Whats worse is I want everyone. Can't wait for every time We will discuss this Finally getting my own place if I don't Oh wow look at work Paige disposes of my friends. I don't know what we're doing, I cannot wait for something you God for anyone who lives Oh yeah, I hate myself. We will discuss your repeatedly aggressive emails at work. slithers out the window without your shitty cardboard tasting cereal. I don’t lose. Its getting changed in pain I don't have If you were and this is all.
Paige disposes of you.

Walking home

"It's only when you leave a room full of talking people you realize how deafeningly loud silence is"

I first noticed my shadow,
watching from the wall,
walking down the dark path,
Judging, dark and tall.

Sometimes you have a good shadow,
looking out like you're a mothers son,
sometimes you have a bad shadow,
I woke up with the wrong one.

I saw my shadow disappear
or at least, from where I could see
but I knew that since it was not there,
it was now stalking behind me.

I was distracted for a moment,
as I walked past an old payphone.
with names etched in the metal,
the phone sat all alone.

A layer of grime lay on its walls
and, probably, within.
I felt the grime all over me,
I felt names etched on my skin.

I felt like the cold metal
and my brain, the lonely phone.
as if right now I had no change,
and all I want is to call home

I crossed the regrettably empty road
and watched the dark grass glisten.
I can still hear the payphone ringing,
making it really hard to listen.

This is where I started to run
and I swear not out of fear,
I just realized how slow I walk
and that I did not want to be here.

I run as if I'm being chased,
or maybe I'm doing the chasing,
all I know is I'm running from something,
that I can't comprehend facing.

I run down the familiar roads
that are silent as a dial tone.
I run through the gate and through the door,
I just wanted to get home.

I had felt her

I had felt her,
her stare on the back of my neck
in English class
crawling up the nape of my neck
and choking me until I couldn't speak.

I had felt her,
perfume climb its way into my fibres
after I asked her to be my girlfriend
electricity shooting up my arm
and jazz music in my head.

I had felt her,
lips brush against mine
throwing me off a guard I didn't have
while she shot arrows into my heart
bleeding all I have for her.

I had felt her,
smile travel through the air
as I lifted her veil
and promised her something
I had promised a thousand times before

I had felt her,
warmth on our honeymoon night
a mesh of flesh and breath
silent insecurities
could read the 'do not disturb' sign

I had felt her,
as she nearly broke my knuckles
squeezing my hand
as she brought new life into the world
I told her she's doing well
while I hold the bitter puke in my throat

I had felt her,
tears when they all left for college or marriage,
decades seem like days
when the sun is always shining
as it was with her.

I had felt her,
as I held her weak hands
and told her how much I loved her
as the heart moniter slowly stopped
and I felt her, leave.

Indigo

Wearing red lipstick

Like the killer of men
And if she cant kill them
She fucks them again
Shes got a little black book
Full of desperate sinners
Like bloody handprints
On the bathroom mirror

When you are with her

you're somebody else

she wants you to fuck her

like you hate yourself

She's got something in her pocket

if you're trying to get high

and thoughts in her mind

if you want to die.

She asks me to stay,
she hates being alone

and I always do,

I never want to go home.

When you are with her
you're somebody else
she wants you to fuck her
because she hates herself