Did you ever wonder why I had to be drunk

every time

you touched me, I shrunk.

You knew, so you’d pour me a glass,

perhaps you thought I was shy

enough to want to black out

before we fuck



You pull me into this embrace and whisper

‘Relax, hug me..’

And I wrap my arms around your back

But they’re made of lead and they hang


I try to breathe but the air

is thick in my lungs like molasses.

So I stand there, airless and stiff in your enormous arms.

I swallow the lump in my throat, full of hatred;

and smile, my teeth so faintly grinding

and think of my treasure.

Oh, how I love him and how I

hate myself

because the pain that I swallow and hold

on the end of my fingers,

it falls on his hair and his fragile skin,

it sets on his long dark lashes when his eyes grow big

and he wonders why

Mummy is sad again

Mummy is angry again.

Why she never cries…..


Til’ death

He tried to whisper to her, and she could see that it was a struggle. She gestured him to be quiet, and stroked his hair gently, tears pouring down her face..
The rock she has leaned on for so many years; the man she has adored, loved and cared for her entire life, was slowly fading away right in front of her. And she was powerless. All the tears,the pleading and the prayers could not stop him dying, could not stop her heart breaking.

How could she be without him? How could she wake up tomorrow and not see him reading that paper in his chair, sipping his coffee too damn loud, calling her ‘Adi’.. Oh, how she hated when he called her ‘Adi’! Who would she shout at? Who would she tell off?
He coughed loudly and she thought How selfish I am! How he’s suffering!
She rested her head on his shoulder and tightened the hold on his arm. Please don’t die! she whispered.


He was weeping too and she kissed the tears carefully, knowing that it wasn’t death he cried for, but leaving her; it was her being alone that he was thinking of too. Her, walking around the house like a mad woman, not knowing which song to sing to face the pain. He knew her all to well.. she would sing that ballad about the lonely bird and she would cry, stirring the pots of soups and stews, filling the glasses of all the people who will have come to the wake. She would smile at them too, and tell funny stories about their life together. She’ll be strong, she’ll be…