I welcome the sweet release of death.

I welcome the end to my pain and the end to my unhappiness.

I will no longer have to wear a mask or live with a facade.

I welcome death.

I welcome the finally of it all. No longer feeling suffocated in a life that I didn’t ask for.

No longer feeling alone and not having a hand to reach out for.

Happiness won’t mean anything anymore. It won’t be the lifelong goal that drives me forward.

Feelings will no longer exist.

I welcome death.



His fists tightened as he moved towards her.

He didn’t want to do this. He never did.

Life was hard. All he wanted to do was sit down relax and take a breather. But she wouldn’t let him would she? She was always on at him. Nag, nag fucking nag.

Constantly pushing his buttons. It’s like she did it on purpose. Pushing him to the edge until he exploded.

She didn’t understand him. Didn’t understand the pressure that he was under. Why couldn’t she just be understanding? Why couldn’t she see that he was hurting?

She cowered near the wall. Tears streaming down her face. She was shaking.

He hated doing this, he didn’t want to. It wasn’t him. It was all her. She made him see red. If she didn’t go on at him so much, then he wouldn’t. He would stop. He wouldn’t have too.

His knuckles stung. The skin at the corner of his hand had ripped as it made contact with bone.

His breathing calmed and he sat down.

“You know I love you,” he spoke again, his tone softer now.


The feeling of disgust battles through me on the odd occasion and no matter how many affirmations I throw at it, it just won’t leave.

It picks me apart bit by bit. You’re too fat. You’re ugly. You have too many spots. Your hair is shit.

Attack after attack, after attack. It’s no wonder I’m so messed up.

It’s a little demon that I just can’t get rid off, and when it leaves best believe it won’t be long before it returns ready to rip me to more shreds.

Digging its heels deeper and deeper into my back.

I pray for a day that I can pick it up and kick it away so hard that it shatters to pieces.

I’m trying to get strong, day by day I’m building up my armour until it becomes impenetrable.

Until those whispers of discontent are nothing more than faint, inaudible bleeps in the wind.


A wolf in sheep’s clothing is sleeping next to me.

In the daylight he whispers sweet nothings in my ears, but by night he turns into a different person.

Gone is the man that stole my heart and in his place is the man that stole my life.

Bound to him by a metal circle, I am his prisoner.

The love that used to radiate from me, has now turned cold. Instead the dark smell of hatred sits in its place.

I hate how much I hate him. I want nothing to be free of him.

Some nights I dream of killing him in his sleep. I imagine placing my hands around his neck and squeezing until I hear a pop. I think of his eyes never opening again and never again having to hear his voice. His whiny nasally voice that is nails on a chalkboard to me. The feeling of relief knowing that I will finally be free.

But I never act upon my urges. I lay there until sleep takes me away, listening to the rise and fall of his breath. Tears staining my pillow, knowing that I will be locked away with him forever, knowing there will never be an escape for me.


I’m a happiness sucker.

I see people who are happy and because I don’t experience it myself, I wish nothing but misery on them.

I don’t want others to experience emotions that I no longer feel or have ever experienced.

If I am unable to experience the small chills of joy through my own body, why should anyone else.

If I am destined to walk in gloom, so should every one else.

So yes, I roll my eyes when I see people wrapped up in public displays of affection. Yes, I sigh loudly when I see a group of people in the midst of laughter.

So what if I’m jealous. It will never make me change my ways. I forever and always will be a happiness sucker.


I am here.

But am I really?

I haven’t felt here, for such a long time.

Sometimes I feel like I’m drifting along. Life doesn’t feel like it belongs to me anymore. I feel like I’m a puppet in someone’s wicked puppet show.

That, they are taking out the worst scenarios that could ever happen to an individual and placing them all onto me.

Maybe I’m really part of a simulation and one day the game will come to an end.

But until then I’ll keep on drifting and maybe one day I’ll feel like me again.


Memories came crashing through me like waves.

Years and years of me, piled up into boxes. All heading to the bin. They had to go, there was no space for them anymore.

It was time to let go. They had spent time in a darkness. Growing older as I grew older. Both of us forgetting the other.

I had lived so long without them, that I didn’t think about them anymore.

Out of sight, out of mind.

It was so easy to let go now. So easy for me to pack up the years of happiness and sadness into black bags.

I was ready to be free of them.

It was time to move on. I didn’t need the physical, to remember what had once gone before. I didn’t need them as proof of days long gone. I was living proof of those memories.

They bounced and vibrated through me, the building blocks of my now existence.

I thanked them for all they had done. But it was time.

I tied the last black bag and sat down with a smile.

This wasn’t goodbye. This was an opening for new memories to be made.


I don’t feel good.

I feel sad and ashamed and lost. There’s no longer a destination for me. I’ve lost all direction.

I have no motivation. And when you don’t have motivation, what gets you up? What drives you?

Some days I feel sad. Some days I feel nothing. Some days I’m just there, floating around in a ball of distractions.

I watch TV, I read a book, play a game, speak to friends. On the rare occasion I might go for a walk. But none of those things give me satisfaction, because at the end of the day, I know I will just continue drifting off into a void of incompleteness.

The power of loneliness and unfulfillment has gripped ahold of my heart and my soul and has no plans of letting go any time soon.

I want to stop crying, hating on others joy. I don’t want to be the cynic sitting alone in the corner.

I want to live life to the fullest, experience things. I don’t want to give up on me. I don’t want to stop the growth of the person that I’m meant to be. But how do I become that person?

I once had potential. I get told that all the time. Now I sit in dark rooms, with only me for company.

I am not a friend to myself, so how can I be friends with others? Relationships that once were so strong and solid, have drifted away. I don’t want my negativity to spread to them. And without the negativity what else is there to talk about?

I don’t do anything, I haven’t experienced anything new. All I have for them is feelings of doom and gloom. I don’t want them to experience my load, so I keep it trapped it the back of my head and every now and then I offload it onto myself.

I have bruises and scars, on once perfect skin. They hide in places that others can’t see, but I know that they are there. Sometimes they feel as if they are the only ones who really know me, know the real me. Sometimes they feel as if they are my only companions. I don’t give them names though. That would be a step too far.

I just want to feel happy. Have a sense of worth. I don’t want to feel this way anymore.

I want to feel good.


Alone again. Forgotten.

I was never part of a ‘them’ or a ‘we’.

I was the unwanted toy that wasn’t part of the Christmas time rush. Stuck on the top shelf collecting dust, with the threat of a bright orange reduced sticker looming in my future.

Why was I never asked if I wanted to come? Why was I never chosen?

Countless nights of tears had been shed over these pondering wonders.

Maybe I just wasn’t good enough.

I didn’t fit the ideal picture of what perfection was. I was the bright spark in a pastel peach setting.

I didn’t fit in.

I was the odd one out.

There but forgettable.

One day I would be loved the way that I deserved to be. One day I would be someone’s number one. I would be the prize.


The ash fell from the sky like falling snow flakes.

My ears were still ringing from the first explosion, so I couldn’t hear the screams.

But I could see.

I could see the place that I had once loved so dearly; the place that I had turned from a babe, into a girl and then into a young woman destroyed. My home was gone.

Bodies lay strewn. Blood caked to those who had survived. Children clung to frenzied parents looking for survivors.

This was not supposed to happen.

There was supposed to be peace now. We were supposed to move forward, rebuild; strive to be the best that we could be.

I felt something escape my lips. I was screaming. Hot tears peppered my cheeks.

Someone rushed over to me and pulled me out of the rubble.

My hand was still attached to his. As they pulled me away, my fingers released his.

I watched his body grow smaller and smaller as I was carried away from him.

The only man I had ever loved gone.

We had been snuggled up on the sofa watching TV, when the sirens began.

We didn’t even have time to escape, before the first bomb struck.

We didn’t even get to say goodbye.

He had held onto my hand and covered my body with his own.

He would’ve done anything for me.

The ash continued to rain down on us.

This was never going to end.