Back To You

I’m older now, but I’m still wrong

I’m bolder now, I’ve still lost

Let me cry into midnight blue

I’ll find a way back to you


Find a way back to you



Find way back to you



Back, to, you



Step by, step once step back

Allow it in before you let it go

For its final time pretend it will be okay,

That it wont be gone alone



Step by, step once step back

It’s sorry you can’t see it anymore

Its given in to whats to be done

Pain took its life and it took you too



Stand by, stand tall stand up

Allow me in before you let me go

For his final time pretend he will be okay,

That he wont be gone alone



Stand up, stand tall stand strong

He’s sorry you can’t see him anymore

He’s given in to what he’s become

Pain took his life and it took yours too



And I’m falling, deeper than I’ve been before

And I’m sinking, lower than I’ve been before



Step by, step once, Step back

Falling down, deeper than I’ve been before

Stand by, stand tall, stand up

Sinking down, deeper than I’ve been before

Step by

Back to you

Step once

Back to you

Step back

Back to you

Stand by

Back to you

Stand tall

Back to you

Stand up

Back to you

Step Back

Back to you


Snowdrop Cliff

You don’t understand loneliness until you’ve exhausted someone who was nearly in love with you to the point of abandonment..

Arch my angels

White light..Late night…



Snowdrop Cliff

My love may melt the snow here

“The snow is the cliff, my dear”

I have loved and lost a life here

“The life was never yours to lose, my dear”

I have come to leave my life here

“Don’t leave yourself because everyone else does, my dear”


Death and other angels

All weep in this spot

Edge of the cliff?

Worn and strained love






Snowdrop Cliff

My snow may melt the love here

“You’re part of what you fear, my dear”

I have lost the life I loved here

“You’re looking in the wrong places, my dear”

I have left to come to life here

“Remember everything you’ve learned so far, my dear”

(Don’t mind if we never go)

(Never go home)

Fall into cloud

Sunder into shroud

Fall into The Grey

The snow city is so far away




Fall into cloud


Sunder into shroud


Fall into The Grey 


The snow city is so far away


The worst thing about leaving is nobody looking for you


Never let me go


It’s time to dye this snow red. Pour us into this cliff where our essence is strongest anyways. I’m here to empty you out of me. I’m here to empty us out of me.

All of the lies. When you said you would stop lying. You tried to, I know that.

You can’t force love.

“Can I disentangle us?” I wrote. You certainly weren’t there to. The fights we had, you’d vanish, gone, for days on end. You didn’t seem to care.

The breakups where you always expressed a desire to stay broken up. And I pushed for us.

I can’t force love.

The names you called me. The way you acted when you got drunk. “I’m sorry. I was flirting with him.” The promises you broke.

I trusted you with a bonding promise. I implored you to never break a promise while my hand held yours.

You broke them.

The memories. I helped you change environments – workspace, friends. I kept you alert, on your toes. I helped you tell your father you loved him on new years eve.

The standalone pieces of my heart, my heart, that I thought I’d found when I found you

I broke them.

Count yourself lucky that you aren’t stuck remembering all of the light times. I count you lucky that you get to act a fool and a victim after everything you’ve done to me.

I have never been easy, nor have I been clean, but I have and always will be a sacrificial, loyal and healing spirit. You, the only person to ever say different, cannot take that from me.

Snowdrop Cliff, I know who I am, I know where I stand.

I will never write about you again.

February Snow

It’s been cold,

January snow

Ironic that for our favourite weather,

We are alone


I think of your cheeks,

Hot pink, burned from frost

Like settled ladybugs,

Lovewords that I have lost


You’re good at keeping warm,

And all I know is surviving through Winter

But you’re not safe where you are now,

And I’ll be dead before Easter

It’s still so cold,

February snow

Time not spent together,

Away from home


I think of your smile

Do you remember a time?

Anything at all?

Lovebirds that cannot chime


May your face wrinkle,

From the laughter someone gives you

May your hands find,

Someone to pull closer at night


May your hugs comfort,

As from Pooh

May your lifeline seek,

A succesful rhyme

I am so cold,

February snow

This snowdrop cliff

Never let me go


,so I cradled my broken arm and ran as fast as I could using my shoulders. I could hear those dreadful footsteps slobbering behind me, tripping in hunger and desperation. The sound brought cold tears to my eyes. The insides of my cheeks famished and swelled from the constant, burning hyper-breathing.

I could not decipher which way to go, how to get away. So I just carried on, jarring myself against the thick parallel concrete walls that surrounded me. I prayed for relief.

I suddenly snagged on a creeping root and my entire body weight landed on my arm. With a terrible snack, and a pain that felt like someone had placed my arm on kerb and then jumped on it, came a horrifying, wet moan from just behind me. I scrambled to my feet and continued my agonising run. Every step I took stabbed me, and I could feel a juggle inside as my completely shattered bones shook from movement. I could hear those awful steps plummeting…

Closing in… Hot breath on my neck… I took the next left sprinting so hard that I sprung into the adjacent wall. This time my arm let out a falling-tree creak, but I didn’t have time to notice the blood that then started spitting. The impact surprised the thing and it hurtled forwards, being slapped by that long enclosure that kept us both trapped here. It gave me seconds.

But then it got faster.

I heaved everywhere, my life was just ache, my arm bleeding heavily through my white fleece. My legs fidgeted on each step I took. I was giving in. The thing had me. I was hopeless, my pace slowing, each turn and each shoulder against the wall knocking more from me than the last..

With pride, I snapped around, ready for a defeated dog fight. I was already dead.

But then it all glistened away in grey fog. The stone walls burning softly, their new state of matter drifting up slowly, in circles and bending lines. I watched, gently holding my broken arm as the sky formed into grey, and the walls came loose, and I could nearly see the shape of the maze I had bashed through now broke in suspension. Light as air it left me. With my broken arm I stretched, painfully, stained with blood on my clothes and my beaten hand that poked from the darkened sleeve, and felt the mist that rose from the wall beside me. It felt…slender on my damaged body. Healing almost, like deer tears roaming along the pain.

I turned to meet my chaser and found it lying in a massy mass. It was limp and fallen, just letting itself cloud. Its thick blackness eroded into grey too, it lightened as it flew.

The effervescence felt like home.

And then I realised, my devastated hand was dissipating too

‘An Envelope Popped Through The Door’ Prompt

She hand-closed the door softly behind her, to keep it from falling to pieces. She let her strict ponytail loose. She took a well earned deep breath and her insides were treated with the taste of fresh-on-old mildew. “Home”, she whispered. She waltzed then through the dainty hallway, allowing her finger to trace along the many semi-circular hanging tears of wallpaper, like child-drawn waves. There remained only few doors in this framed rubble of a building, and none that separated the hallway from the kitchen. She descended from the pale beige glow of the hall into the skeleton light.

Everything in this home was devastated, but she kept it neat. Closed drawers, levelled and stacked books.. She was an organised woman, now that she had the freedom to be. What satisfied her about this place was her feeling of control. She would leave for weeks to come back and find everything as only a dustier form of its previous self. She felt powerful, finally safe in her own clay-stained hands. It was a rather new feeling of assurance, something she had not been familiar with most of her life. With no mother, she was hastily forced to be wed when she was still a girl.. to a man much stronger than her. And older, too.

But that was past her now. She gazed through the window above the sink, into an abyss of ash. For miles, there was nothing salvageable, and the rest was swept from an orange drift of wind, seemingly like a sandstorm, that hid the rest of the world. She was grateful for whichever bomb that had hit this place, leaving a piles of embers, and erratic poles dotted around. But she most loved that she could feel the mush of compressed ash as she walked.

On the sill. A dead spider. She gasped. It’s legs crooked in agony. She examined closer. It’s face was smushed, as if from weight. It reminded her of him, how he would kill everything in his house, break objects, leave things open and messy but never allow her to clean. Or to leave. She was to rot, as he trumped all over, just to see her squirm.

She cupped the spider, and dropped him into the sink and ran the tap. Brown water came and washed the spider down. Gone. Forever. She wiped the sill clean. Her brief moment of fear had been cleared. She was alone here, in control here, and safe here.

She began her ritual of cleaning. She had brought a purse full of Wypall wipes and a multitude of business-marketed cleaning sprays. She wiped the damaged counters of the kitchen, the frames with no doors, the old mahogany counter-piece in the hall, all along the bannister, up the stairs…

A noise. Right as she ascended the final step. As of a knock. On the door. Behind her. But there was nobody there. She could see through the frosted glass in the middle of the door. Nothing. She gave a plain smile. All but the sound of a footstep.

And so she carried on her cleaning upstairs, and she made everything in every room glean. Her last mission, was to batter the dust of the duvet in the only bedroom. And so she grabbed two corners of it, and slid it off the bed. And screamed.

On the bed. A stain. An ink stain. A lidless pen lay leaked. Permanent black. Her first thought was not to question its presence but to get rid of it. She went to rub at it with her wipe but the ink licked it. And stuck. She dropped it then, and backed away in horror. She had now realised. Someone had been here. Recently. They had stained the bed and killed a spider.

She ran. Down the stairs. Not safe anymore. But there. The frosted glass was no longer clear. 

A shadow. Something. With a top hat. Mad hair underneath. At the door.

“It’s not real…” Perhaps just a gathering of dark dust. It was quite probable. The wind could’ve placed it. She stood frozen on the second bottom stair for minutes, her heart rate slowly averaging as the something showed no form of life. It wasn’t real. She was not in danger, or in the presence of something else. She gave another plain smile. Just a trick of nature. She slumped down the last step.

An envelope popped through the door.

Dillon #2

His skin is cold to touch. Colder than The Grey. His teeth are icicles. His tongue is vanilla ice-cream. His favourite colours are white and blue but he pretends they are red and black. When kissing his lips it feels like eating snow. His breath is always foggy. His blood has frozen, so he moves with stiff legs and turns slowly. He gleams with brilliance and cleanliness. He is immaculate and pure and those of wicked and wretched sin, those like me, are hurt to look upon his white statue. The light cuts the black of our eyes like a needle.

Nothing penetrates his glacier exterior. The pools of emotions inside him are never rippled. They are steady and lonely and never overflow and they are a young blue atop and embowled by a flawless white.

He deflects weapons and blocks punches. He is a white barrier. He is physically unbreakable. He doesn’t crack. He glows – a strict, skinny, skeleton glow that radiates from his skin. He is intimate with his surroundings and can surge them with confidence to withstand the wildest of winds and strongest of storms.

When he walks through empty corridors he glides his finger along the wall emitting little flakes from the contact that melt to a tear of water before they reach the ground.

I think he lives like he’s made of glass. Perhaps porcelain. A cold porcelain vase that doesn’t home flowers and acts as just an eye pleaser, a decoration on a marble mantlepiece. And so, he feels cold and worthless and looked at but not looked in, not studied, just passed, his existence fragile and unmendable once it shatters into fragments; picked up with delicate hands and let fall again. And again. And again. 

We could combine, little Dillon. You and I, the frost and the fog could attach and produce a new world. An illusionist and a shapeshifter. Who’s who?

Galaxy Goo

I could crack you open and galaxy goo would slime through the fissures, thick and dark purple and full of little stars.

You don’t even know that.

You have no idea what’s inside of you. What you’re made of. I guess that’s because you can’t see your eyes. Unless you look through mirror. But you and I both know, mirrors only reflect colours. Cosmic magic gets lost in translation.

I have seen your eyes. The first time I met with them, my lonely mind took their picture and replayed them to me – over and over. It connected us in that infinite land of dream and magic and imagination, where we will breathe and fly and implode even after this world has let us go.

You’re heavy. You carry yourself around and you tire yourself out.

Gravity despises you. You’re too hard to hold down. Gravity told Love to break you, so you chained canon balls around your ankles and kept yourself grounded.

That was bad.

You see, dreaming is flying, flying is rising above,out of reach from Shadow, the snappy-stick wetness that moves at night. We sleep to escape it. That’s why we sleep at night.

But you don’t sleep. Do you?

No. You shiver and stare at the stars and wonder.

Oh. Galaxy Goo! That’s us up there! Far from the ground claimed by malice!

I feared for your safety.

But you were safe.

When I turned and found myself deep within Grey depth and not alone, I found you! Oh, wicked truth! Beyond imagination! You are of Grey as I am, as she is! And I pondered just HOW A being of the Grey could survive the darkness without dreaming! Without sleep!

And so I realised,

At night as we leapt to Earths beloved universe and hid in a galaxy, you turned into your galaxy. The darkness couldn’t collect you because you collected yourself.

And so, you could survive the night. And, the night became your dream. And, you lived amongst devils and demons and were immune to their wickedness.

And then came the Grey…