Deep blue sea staring back at me,

Stretches so far till the eyes can see. 

Hold me close, hold me tight,

I will drown without a fight. 

Terrifying depths, merciless waves, 

I will Hide, I really won’t cave. 

Deep blue sea so far away from me, 

Stretches so far but far away from me. 

Let the grip go, set me free, 

I’m stronger now, let me be. 

Lush greens, black and brown,

I no longer have a frown. 



​”Her hair long and blonde shone under the florescent white light. One of her hands gripped her hair out of her face while the other clutched the toilet seat as she emptied the contents of her stomach for the fifth time in a day. Her slim finger hit the back of her throat again and by the end of it, she was left with the stale taste of laxatives. Her face let out a faint smile and she sagged in relief against the wall, knowing she was done for the day.” 

But my hair isn’t long and nor is it glossy. It’s dry and brittle and snaps every time I tug at it. My face is worn and lifeless with scary black bags under my eyes. The sleeves on my arms are damp due to the drool that I wiped off my chin in quick haste. My fingers aren’t slim and pretty because of the angry red scrapes caused by my teeth. I always feel like gagging because all I can ever taste is laxatives and by the end of it, all I can manage to do is cry against the cold hard wall, because I’m running on a loop. 

“She refused my offer to take her out to the nearest café with a ‘no thanks’ and a coy smile. And although she wore the baggiest clothes, it was clearly inevitable that she had ‘the perfect figure’. Her long bangs always covered her mousy face, which made it harder for me to gauge her expressions.” 

But refusing food isn’t really that easy, and and it takes more than a smile to turn someone down. In fact, it’s no smiles at all, it’s having a body so thin that you could literally see the bones through my skin. It’s tiny hair growing all over my body. It’s freezing to death even when it’s barely chilly because you have no damn layer of fat to keep you warm and it’s wearing sweats to school even on the hottest days because you can’t let people see that you’ve reduced to. Hair falls like leaves in autumn until you’re left with scanty patches that you manage to savage and cover your face so as to disappear into the shadows. 

“He hid his red scratchy eyes behind his thick glasses. He barely spoke but his sketches made up for it and he was often trapped in his own world. His earbuds often blared Panic! At the Disco and his pretty bright eyes scanned the words of Emily Brontë. His lonely days finally lit up when he bumped into a quiet blonde with the smile of an angel. And just like that, his days were golden again.” 

But my eyes aren’t just scratchy, they’re void of any sensation. Some days are spent staring at the darkness even in the day time and some days are spent in the blissful world of sleep. I can barely manage to speak cause I can’t seem to force any words out of my throat. It’s as though they’ll always remain stuck at the tip of my tongue. I can’t draw to express myself because I don’t have the patience to draw more than a damn line. And I’m stuck in my world that is no short of hell. Reading even a measly page takes the life out of me because it’s so fucking taxing. The only thing that gives me a sense of time is the constant music that my earphones sing to me. Sometimes the noise around me is deafening while the other times it fades into the background. And no matter how hopeless I get and no matter how long I wait, I never get to see an angel smiling at me. 

“His heart was beating in his chest and his hands were bloody due to the cuts on his thighs. The only thing protecting him from the bloody sight was his over grown hair. The noises remained a blur until he heard her sweet voice through the door laced with worry and concern. He looked at the door through which her pleading voice emanated. As soon as he had let the door loose, he felt her arms wrap around him, her consoling voice cooing in his ears and the gentle sighs of relief because he hadn’t managed to kill myself yet. And in the moment that she looked into his eyes and left a lingering kiss on the tip of his lips, he knew that maybe there was something to hold on to.”

The palpitations in my chest are harsh enough to make me feel like my bones are cracking with every shattering beat.  My breathing ragged and my hands bloody from the relentless cuts on my thigh almost mute the screams screeching through my throat; and when they do stop I felt like my throat is on fire. Looking at the mess I made I tugged my short hair, but my senses were too numb to feel it. With no one to care, I’m left to clean up my own mess.

Dear You.

Dear you,
You taught me that nobody cares until you’re dying or are already dead. You made me realise that human affection has boiled down to caring only when someone’s days are numbered or when the life has been knocked out of someone. But love, is that what I have to go through to hold your attention for more than thirty seconds? But then, how can I call you my loved one when I can only get your attention for no more than thirty seconds. If you really did love me, wouldn’t you shower me with affection every chance you got? I guess there’s only one way to find out.

I wish you’d talk to me for hours together because you enjoy my company, and not because I’m lying on my death bed.
I wish you’d smile at me every time you see me in the hallway rather then walk past me like I wasn’t even there.
I wish you’d ask me things about myself because you know I won’t say them out loud otherwise.
I wish you’d hug me more than once a year because days are numbered and people don’t live forever.
I wish you’d stop dismissing me every time I really need your help and help me not because I always do for you but because you want to help me out for a change.
I wish you’d let me know more about you, and stop ignoring my questions by a ‘why do you care?’
I wish you’d stop insulting every choice of mine, because the doubts in my mind are enough to knock me down.
I wish you’d stop abusing me every time I made a mistake, because I hate myself already.
I wish that you’d hang out with me and take me to places, because you don’t know how suffocating it can get sitting in your room for days because everyone is always ‘too busy.’
But most of all, I wish you’d stop saying ‘no’ with hate in your eyes every time I ask you if I’m your best friend, because I don’t think you realise, but I don’t have any.

I guess you can say that you won’t have to worry about my attention on you from now. Seventeen years was enough for me to realise that you never wanted me in your life, it was enough for me to back off, and more than enough for me to finally give up.

I hope you don’t feel the loneliness that I always do, and I hope you have companions to give you the attention that I wish I could give you. I want to thank you for what you taught me, but I know that you’d never even listen to the words that come out of my mouth.

All the love,

Love: an Illusion.

(Excerpt #1 from an unwritten book.)

Tears clouded her blue eyes as she stared at the woman in front of her. The woman’s once glossy black hair was now dry and brittle. Her skin so transparent that you could see her veins through it. Needles pricked her skin to release morphine into her blood stream, and yet she lay barely conscious. The young girl flipped through the photo album that she had found wedged between the lose grasp of the woman’s arms.

Tucked between a photograph and the thin film of the plastic was a lone Campion flower. It has long lost its delicate fragrance and it’s blush petals had turned brown over time. Her blue eyes shifted in confusion. Campion flowers couldn’t ever be found in a place like Greenland. It was only native to the warm grasslands of Nothern Ireland. She remembered how her sister would giggle every time she tried to braid them into her hair. Moreover, the flower would have to be over 25 years old since they were declared extinct in 1992. She wiped her eyes and moved her eyes to the photograph. A young boy with blond hair stood with his hands wrapped around a girl. Her jet black hair in contrast to the vibrant grass around them. She was smiling at the delicate flower in her hand. It was the most beautiful picture she had ever seen. Smiling delicately she put the flower back in the album.

“I didn’t know you lived in Northern Ireland. It’s a beautiful picture you got there” The girl whispered.
“Oh love. It was a long time ago”. She rasped but her tired eyes lit up at the memory. “I was around your age and I’d spend my days in the grasslands and my nights skinny dipping in the lakes. That’s where I met him. We’d spend every minute of everyday together. It was so surreal. At first I hated him, but he kept showing up at my door. So very clichéd, but god it was wonderful.” she smiled at the young girl through her own tears.
“What happened?”
“I left Ireland. Turns out he never stopped looking for me. Fifteen years later I buried him. He got into an accident and the GPS of his car had my location on it.”
Her eyes were full of sadness, it was like she’d buried him only yesterday. The pain in her voice so inevitable that she had to choke out the rest of her words.
“God I never stopped loving him. I  hope that someday you’ll find someone to love you like no tomorrow, and I hope you’ll let them love you, rather than run away like you always do. Sometimes, I would feel his touch on me while I slept, only it wasn’t him.”

It was hard to tell what was worse – the fact that she had ended up spending her life with a man she never loved, or that she got euthanised three days later.


I’ve never seen water so clear that you can see the surface beneath it; only murky lakes stripped off their beauty by mankind.
I’ve never seen mountains so tall that they kiss the skies; only barren hillocks naked to the winds.
I’ve never seen luscious green leaves surging with life; only dull withered leaves covered in dust.
I’ve never had the pleasure of plucking a plump apple from a tree only to have it’s sweetness dripping down my chin; only artificial fruits laden with chemicals.
I’ve never seen the sky flaunting it’s gem like stars; only dull skies clouded with pollution.
I’ve never felt the blades of grass prickling my back, only stony surfaces inhabited by ants.
I’ve never felt the howling wind whipping through my hair; only the occasional subtle breezes.
I’ve never felt complete silence being disturbed by the music of the birds; only the incessant buzzing of the traffic.
But there’s a beauty even in this lifeless world. There’s beauty in the murky water because you can see the algae floating on top of it. And if you focus hard enough, you can see them thriving the harsh sunlight.
There’s beauty in the barren hillocks because you can see the ants making a home for themselves and you can see the caterpillars burrowing themselves in the ground.
There’s beauty in the withered leaves because it reminds me that one day I’m going to wither away too. My now taut skin is going to wrinkle till it’s dire.
Artificial fruits don’t make me frown anymore, because perfection is an illusion.
I don’t hate the hidden stars anymore because then I can let my imagination run wild.
I like that the soil is stripped off its vegetation because then I can see the ants struggling to search for food.
I like that the wind is never whipping around me, because the subtle wind gives me a nudge of reassurance.
And lastly, I like the constant buzz of the mechanical life around me because it never fails to remind me that there is life around me, despite the dreariness in mine.


She’d always hated green. Well, not just any green, dark green to be specific. It reminded her of the stench of Ethanol and disinfectant; and the bitter taste of antibiotics. But even though she was surrounded by those dark green curtains, this time all that it reminded her of was those dark green eyes that she fell in love with.

Her blurry eyes stared into the black abyss and wondered what it felt like to hold a lovers hand, to feel someone’s lips on your own, to have someone caress your body or smile against the crook of your neck. But more importantly, she wished that she was noticed by that particular pair of green eyes. She wished those eyes would look at her like she was all they needed. She wished those plump lips would utter those words of reassurance that she craved to hear for most of her life. She wished those long fingers would intertwine with her’s or lovingly bury themselves in her hair. She wished those fingertips would explore every inch of her body. All she wanted was to feel the touch of him, but she knew she couldn’t because those eyes didn’t know her. They never would.

And even in the wee hours of her living she felt crushed with loss and regret; for she was almost an adult but she couldn’t think of anything that made her happy. She never wanted to leave like this. She knew she had been ready to leave for a long time, but she wished that she would leave with a sweet memory on her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut so tight, that it almost made her yelp in pain. But she still couldn’t think of anything that made her smile. Abandoning that idea, she squeezed her eyes shut again so that she could remember something else. Perhaps something that she was proud of. But that went in vain too. She cried out in frustration and agony for she was almost an adult and yet, there wasn’t one thing that she could remember that she was proud of.

How could that be? She wondered as she struggled to breathe. Was her life that vain, that futile that she couldn’t remember one thing that soothed her? Perhaps it was. Not everyone has the luxury of a good life, and not everyone has the luxury of a good death.
Suddenly she could feel herself floating in the air and in that moment she managed to crack a smile because she knew that she wouldn’t have to open her eyes the next morning….. Or any morning after that.


Weary of Life

It’s crazy how capable the human mind can be. It has the ability to experience an average of 50,000 thoughts per day; which makes it 18,250,000 thoughts per year. So, assuming you live to be 80, your mind would have thought an average of 1,460,000,000 thoughts. That’s an incredible number of thoughts. No wonder it’s only a matter of time that our minds start getting tired.

Tired (adjective): in need of rest or sleep, weary.

Because this is exactly how I feel in the middle of the night when all I want to do is sleep, but am haunted by the thoughts running through my mind. Tired of tossing and turning in bed until my blankets are covered with sweat and my hair is sticking to every inch of my face.

Tired (adjective): bored or impatient with.

Tired is what I feel every morning when I open my eyes. The air around me seems to weigh a few tons every time I to try to force myself off the bed. The rest of the day goes by in a tired haze; some moments always longer than the others. It is these moments that leave me battered and restless until I can reach to the confines of my bed.

Tired (adjective): boring or uninteresting because over familiar.

Even though I’ve been craving this moment since the day started, I’m still tired when I find myself back in bed. the same bed I’ve spent countless hours on. Tired because even though I wanted a bed, I don’t want this particular one. It gives me the same old feeling which tires me because I want something to distract me from my colourless days that seem to be merging together.

Tired (verb): to lose interest in.

I grab a book from the shelf beside- a different one this time. But it doesn’t help because I’ve done this way too many times all the same. Even the sight of the book tires me and I keep staring at it until I discard it.

tired (verb): to feel in need of rest or sleep.

I look at my reflection for the second and last time at the end of the day and all I can seem to see are my tired eyes staring back at me. It takes a while to realise that they’re just lifeless black holes.