I think I’ve forgotten my face

Or rather I don’t recognise it.

I spent many moments passing by mirrors and reflective surfaces, I think I recall seeing myself in them as I wash my hands, or fix my hair.

Technically I know it’s me, which is perhaps why I didn’t realise the moment I stopped knowing who the person in the mirror is.

The shape is there, the lacklustre hair. Big eyes, puffy lids, lips, nose, teeth.

Mashed together in what should be my identity.

Yet I don’t know her, so it’s back to square one of learning who she is again.



28 days

An exact month

From the drunken cheating. From the agony of realisation that I’m bad to the bone.

Months of therapy. Abstinence. Guilt. Regret. Anger. Anxiety. Depression. Anger. Guilt. Anger. Not listening. Anger. Hurt. Self-sabotage. Not listening. Stupidity. Spinelessness. Pathetic. No self worth. Spiralling. Therapy.


No alcohol no drugs no pills. Over eating. Bulimia, stopping. Control.

God, control till I snap then fall apart.

Control again.

God please control please help me be good please I’ll pay anything my money my time my devotion my life my soul everything please please.

But still the devil and demon and soulless cruelty that is me still comes out still exists I Am Bad

Don’t trust the bitch she lies she doesn’t even know she’s lying she’s bad to the bone stay away from her she clings but you’ll be better off discarding her like the trash she truly is this slut so desperate for love she would choose to forego her family and friends and partner just for a taste of forbidden fruit.

Fucking eve.

Fucking slut.

And now 28 days and finally he gets it and leaves. He leaves because he knows he can never ever be with a slime like her like me it’s me I’m the slime, the spineless whore it’s me I’m not worth it even with therapy I’m not worth anything I’m just trying to find a semblance of worth through $235 a fortnight and now a month

But this slut would just spend the extra money on everything that will kill those around her, and her as well.

To the bone.

28 days of trying to remember that she’s worthless but maybe after 28 days

A year from then

Maybe she can start from scratch and learn to be an actual human

And maybe she’ll learn she shouldn’t force anyone to love her anymore because she isn’t deserving.

And so no one can get broken by this slime again.


A leopard never changes its spots

So no amount of bleaching

Tearing of skin






Will ever work

Not when your anger boils, bubbles exploding

Not when your words mean nothing

And you can’t keep to your promises

When you see the darkest black of your soul that exists in humanity

And you just have to keep taking one step after another

Begging for affection and attention

Knowing you don’t deserve any love

Because the one time in your life you do

You throw it away for a dangling carrot

So how could you truly ever be good, it just proves your soul is damned.

At least the pattern will hold true, and he will find his soulmate now.

Of all the regrets I have, from meeting you and saying hi, from cheating on you multiple times, from clinging and staying on all the days, the one that hurts the most is forcing you to stay with me for over a year.

When you could have met someone better, the best by now.

Am I learning yet?

the tears fall unbidden, leaky faucets that can’t seem to be clogged up no matter how much tissue was used to stuff into the cracks. The tissues just dissolve into a pulpy, splattered mess, but I don’t switch to a more permanent solution.


gasps escape my torn up lips as I raise my face to the ceiling, feeling the scream trapped in my throat, an almost painful experience. There’s no easy solution here because the pain isn’t residing in the centre of my hollow chest. It’s a physical pain not intentionally inflicted by pumps of the fist toward the wall. It’s an ache that can’t be distracted by binges and purges; by numbing agents; by distractions; by redirections.


chills wreck my body, cheeks cracking with the salt trails tracking down, marking out a new contour to my mask.


Meaning and revelations sought out in any and every song, every book, every show about heartbreak and bad love. The ghost of future regrets taunts my heart as my brain leads my vengeful marionette fingers to type out words of anger, spite, hurt and cruelty.


This will not end well again.

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When pain is better

Some call it a hollow

The aching emptiness

The piercing hole

She seems more like a melted bowl

Drooling and smudging carelessly


Her presence is known,

She isn’t missing or empty or hollow

She’s there, forcing her presence on you

There’s no numbness

But there’s screaming till my throat cracks

Punching pillows

Warm hot tears

And a yearning for pain

Pain is better. Pain is real.

Pain a distract from her heavy suffocation

Pain shows I exist beyond her

That I am alive and real

And I am me

Not she, not her


With pain

It is better.

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Purple is the best colour

You know the blood is fresh,
red cells escaping
nerve ends quaking

Not like green
so sickly
regret sinking in
temptation to break
release them again

But the worst is yellow
normality approaches
healing happened
and you’re still alive
and you were alive
all along

The pain made you feel
but the yellow
proves you’re less than living

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I see cracks beginning to form

Where it usually flickered

Now a gash has appeared

Leaking, dripping




And the urge to peel the scab

Hook my nails under and watch it flake

It grows stronger with every taunt

Every command

Every confusing dictate

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What a paradox, freedom.

Freedom to choose
To feel
To speak
To give
To receive

Freedom to
to submit
to honour your word
to obey

What freedom is there
When through your freedom
you give yourself up
as Slave

A chosen submission
A free decision
To release freedom
Through your free mind

But when does the reign end
Where do the chains break
Where did the freedom go
Was it ever there

So, to

Do you, can’t you, why won’t you
feel the torrential slate
from behind your adam’s apple
till it hangs
thin jagged claws
from the sockets of your eyes

Leak drip slowly pour
more like a crawl
gently flooding and obscuring

but now it drops.
It’s all but gone
except for her hollow
sweet enclaves
enticing collarbones
hip bone jutting,
gradual slope and caress

Jagged, crisp

see the sand fall
the water drop
the mountains and burrows crumble

Tinge, twinge, twitch

Where does it end (when)
When will it stop (how)
How can it halt (Why)
Why does it still

She’s back


Screaming silently, quietly, piercing my noise
Please stop hurting me, I can’t start hurting myself, not again
But her shrill squeals skin my sanity and peels my masks away

Collapsing, cool floor icy cold and ragdoll comes to mind. Little puppet breaking and cracking, splinters.
Hot liquid, lava pooling and quickly coagulating, slide and tremble

Please no more how do I stop how I do keep going, how do I not break when she screams and screams.

Lies lies lies please, enough, just give me back the masks of determination. Please
I can do it, I promise, the stakes are way too high, the loss too deep.

Just please let me concentrate, let me obey, let me listen and not hurt, stop screaming and throwing me off.

Stop bringing back the depression. Stop bringing back the cloying clotting parasitic wailing emptiness.

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