Was I born a masochist or did society make me this way? I demand unconditional love and complete freedom. That is why I am terrible.


Is it possible to miss the person you could have been?

Who would I be if we had never met?

Maybe my hands would be less shaky when I touch his skin, and I would relish his warmth and forget the world when he tightened his arms around me, instead of pushing him away whenever it felt dangerously comfortable.

Maybe I would have less scars on my body, and it would be easier for him to mark me. But to be honest I don’t think I would have stopped if you hadn’t told me you would stop loving me if I didn’t learn to love myself a little bit more.

Maybe I could listen to that damn song without crying or drifting into wishful thinking that somehow, miraculously, you were still by my side and we were still something, anything.

Maybe I wouldn’t waste any time thinking of different ways to hurt you should we ever meet again. Weren’t you the one who told me “we always hurt the ones we love”? Well darling I’m still hurting, so I guess that means you loved me the most.

If we had never met, perhaps the words I love you wouldn’t bring me to my knees. I wouldn’t be terrified of wanting permanency only to discover that I was only ever meant to be temporary. I wouldn’t be frightened by the possibility of happiness, I wouldn’t associate pain as a necessary part of that equation. I wouldn’t smile at him like I knew a secret, there would be less sadness in my eyes, and I would not doubt myself every time someone showed me a hint of affection.

But I have a sneaking suspicion that if I had never met you, some other boy would have taken your place. My heart would still be unceremoniously broken, just in a different way. Maybe we don’t matter as much as we think we ought to. So none of us are really villains because none of us are that important. Maybe we only hold on so tight to the hurt because we are not ready to admit that our love was never as unique as the stories we were promised. We never meant as much to each other as we said we did.

And yet, I miss all the things we never said.


Too riddled with inconsistencies to remember how to tell the truth. Too busy dissecting your mistakes to notice when you’re  being sincere. Too obsessed with how others perceive us to take comfort in our balanced imperfections. Too troubled by your misery to fix my own sadness. Too preoccupied with your life to live my own.

I am forgetting myself again. Cast in your shadows, tracing your footsteps, always steps behind, always waiting, always late. Always caught in the middle between leaving you and being left, not sure which is worse. Being left is always worse.

You never truly understand the value of something until it’s gone. Even then we try to salvage the leftovers, make art out of forgotten promises, but the bitterness seeps through and the sour taste lingers like burnt coffee.

Walking down the cobbled path, my hand grasping his a little too tightly, trying to keep my balance on the uneven steps. We caught glimpses of the sunset but never stuck around long enough to see all the colours. We called each other baby and kissed frequently, the taste of tobacco stuck to the back of my throat and I adored his particular disheveled charm. We drove too fast and lived recklessly because being young afforded you that luxury. We stayed up late and drank too much and smoked till our lungs were black and our hearts felt less heavy. Being around him was an escape from reality, I was never sober long enough to contemplate my own mortality. We sang along to bad music and danced under the moonlight and I swallowed my pride till all that was left was envy. We fell in love and I fell apart and boy he left me empty.


That first ray of morning light, the crisp air that chills your lungs and wakes you up better than a cold shower. Old books composed of battered pages, memories left behind through dirty fingerprints. The smell of parchment and the sound of creaking floorboards as you walk in. Rainy days and thunderstorms, excuses to stay in and hold hands with you when I was too afraid to ask you to stay. Speaking my mind even when I knew I shouldn’t and never making the bed because I liked the way you left it. Messy hair, shirts that never fit properly, torn sheets, and scattered ashes on the windowsill. That half empty bottle of whiskey left open on your desk, always tempting. That almost but never empty pack of Marlboro Reds I could never quit, just like I couldn’t quit you.

These are the little things that I miss.

These are the small things that kill me.


We spent most of the night talking, filling in the silence with too much staring and kissing, finally slumbering off to sleep as the morning sneaked up on us. I woke up to him studying me with those sharp green eyes, his steady breathing, and my not so steady heartbeat. For the first time ever I was no longer counting down the minutes till I left, I was counting stars.

It is hard to remind myself that love and lust are different things, and what we feel right now is simply chemicals reacting, nothing more. I should be content in becoming a pleasant memory, something to be filed away and looked at later, when we’re oceans apart and tired of dreaming. But I want more than just the gentle gaze of an old lover. I want to feel passion, I want to feel pain. I want to scream at the sound of his name.

I tried to remember the last time I felt like this but all my memories are blurry. I remember our first kiss. It felt like home, so soft and sweet I thought I would melt in his arms. He ran his hands down my back and traced the fragments of my spine, sending shivers all through me. I have never been touched like this before.

But all this happiness feels so temporary, like we are playing with borrowed time. The question is who is willing to play the fool this time. We are treading on dangerous territory, carrying our shattered hearts in tired suitcases and trading love for stolen kisses. We are stumbling fingers in the dark, dirty whispers in the night, guilty goodbyes when morning comes.


The problem is the profound influence he had on me, his ideas forged me into part of who I am. I am no longer able to separate the girl I was before I met him with the woman I became after he left.

He understood me, the parts of me that even I didn’t fully understand. I had spent most of my life subliminally championing the idea that being misunderstood made me interesting, but it took him seconds to dismantle my mask. I wanted to be mysterious, but he refused to give me that courtesy. I despised intimacy, he found a way to get close anyway. We found in each other something that completed us, we loved each other when we were both unlovable. I built myself a new home with his arms wrapped around me, and I thought forever was a promise meant for keeping.

But waking up in the morning to that empty bed, all that space, I felt like I slept on needles and every piece of my skin was burning. All my mistakes came hammering down, drilling into my brain and hell is the special pain I had invited into my life, hell is knowing I am no longer permitted to speak your name.


he says i’m all teeth and sharp edges
and soft skin doesn’t make up for the bruises i leave in the mornings
we fight we scream we kiss and wait for the guilt to wash in
we pretend we never wanted any of this to happen
i smile so much these days my cheeks are always aching and i never tell him that i have to bite my tongue to keep in the poison
i don’t show him the bullets under my skin

i tell him purple is my favourite colour but i don’t explain the reason
he watches the bruises blend in and tells me i’m too broken
i’m fractured i’m fragments but i’m stronger at the seams
i’ve been sewed up and smashed to pieces and glued together again
so maybe i am impossible to live with but you will never see me give in

he says i’m jagged knives and sinking stones but there’s no turning back now
and still waters run deep but he’s still waiting to see me angry
we poke and prod each others wounds till we’re both raw and bleeding
he tries to kiss it better but pride always get in the way of healing
i don’t show him the hollowness in my chest

i tell him rainy days are my favourite because i get to stay in but i don’t say i miss him
he shows up on my doorstep with roses at 10pm and i yell at him for no god damn reason (i yell at him because i love him)
i ask him if my hands are steady and i play a tune that can’t be forgotten will he still remember me when his shirt has finally been washed so many times that my scent is no longer stuck to the fabric
i just wanted to be his favourite

he says i’m tired of your crying and manipulation
i didn’t fucking sign up for this (i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry)
i laugh and laugh and laugh and it comes out in frozen stitches and silence completes the spaces he used to fill in
we pack our bags we never say goodbye and i forget our composition
i don’t tell him that i love him


That morning I almost blurted out the words “I love you“. I whispered it in my head and watched it drift through my mind like Autumn leaves and it filled me with dread. I don’t think you understand what this means for me. Knowing for certain that in three months or years or decades, this feeling will be replaced by something hideous and I am inviting unbearable pain into my life again.

I grabbed a cigarette from your table and opened the curtains just enough for daylight to creep through and smoke to breathe out. When you put your arm around me to light it, your presence silenced something inside me, I felt my walls shatter. I let my guard down and we shared a moment of peace that I think I’ll hold with me forever.

Baby I wish I knew how to love in a way that isn’t toxic, but when I was young and my heart was still wide open, a beautiful boy told me he adored my poison. I dug my nails deep into his skin and left marks on his shoulders to remind him that he was taken. We laughed and we loved and we filled the summer with passion but when summer was over he realised it was only infatuation, he never loved more than my skin. I made it so easy for him to walk in and out of my life, like I was always meant to be forgotten.

Then you turned and looked at me in the way every girl dreams of being looked at. Like I was the only person in this world and nobody else could compare. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t true, or that I would only ever be a secret. You made me feel like I mattered, and that was enough. That was always enough for me. But I was never enough for him, and I will never be enough for you either, not really.

Please don’t let me fall again, if you’re not ready to catch me.


You’re on my mind a lot, and it kills me a little.

When you left you never questioned why there was only one set of footprints in the sand. You never bothered to mention to her that I carried you across the sea and the desert, that my feet were bloody and my hands were bruised and calloused but I still smiled at you like it didn’t hurt.

You’re on my mind a lot, you ruin me, I think.

When the light in my eyes extinguish, don’t let it put out the fire in your heart. Stay with me in my era of mistakes and delirium, find some semblance of balance within my twisted world of distorted realities, my favourite madness.

You can be my sun, my world, and I could love you till the universe was no more, and yes I still believe in love stories and fantasies because we dream further than our realities, that is how we reach the stars.

You’re on my mind a lot, you break me, darling.

When you reach the crossroads will you take the coward’s path, or will you take my hand and walk the lonely road paved with good intentions, filled with turns and tricks and no happy endings? Will you take me with you and learn what it means to suffer, to experience excruciating pain that rips you apart but when it’s over, when you heal, nothing is ever the same. Are you brave enough to start over?

You’re on my mind a lot, love is a feeling best served with heartache.

Don’t mistake me for the girl with the flowery dress, all broken smiles and easy to please. Watch me twist your arm till your world is upside down and let’s fall together, let the past unravel, whisper my favourite word: Yes.


I used to think love was a madness that manifested itself in the hearts of weak women. Women who had given up the infinite possibilities that the world had granted them, women who would never accomplish anything that society deemed worthwhile. Because being a mother in this day and age is not something to be proud of, it is a signal to the rest of the world that you lacked the ambition to fight to be remembered. You belong to the class of women doomed to be forgotten, too fragile to exist on the stale parchments of history. The light of these women fade at the same consistency as the china patterns they obsess over, their lives revolve around the cries of children and the endless demands of childish husbands. These women are accused of relying on men, they take and take and (according to everyone else) they never give anything back.

I see now with a dull winter ache and a still beating heart that it takes power to give love away, and mistakes may have been made but I did not crush myself to pieces just to watch you walk away and brag about how easy it was to hurt me. My mother did not scream till she lost her voice just to watch me lose myself in the darkness, I was taught to follow the stars.

I know now in your heart of hearts that those beautiful promises originate from a place of such cruelty that they make your hands shake when you touch my skin, and the blemishes don’t show up for days but the scars simmer for decades. I see her shadows stalking you in the dark, you are plagued by secrets. You crave my affections but you loathe my company. You wish you could be alone but you hate being lonely.

I want to know what you’re looking for, if we’re both searching for the same madness, if you know how to ask the right questions. I stare into murky brown eyes and I confess that I believe this madness is inside all of us, it runs through my veins, from the soles of my feet up to the tips of my fingers and it has ruined me many, many times. But it keeps us moving forward, propelling us towards our inevitably disappointing end, and still we march on, day after day, like little toy soldiers. You take my hand and lead me on this path of destruction, and I don’t mind, not even a little bit.

Because in my heart of hearts I know everything you think you’ve hidden. In my darkest hour I’ll remember, you were so fucking broken.


Speeding down the highway with blaring music, letting the vibrations drown out the voices in my head. I think I might be missing you, and I scold myself for allowing this to happen. I keep wondering when I’ll outgrow these childish infatuations, but you keep pulling me closer with your lousy attempts at intimacy, and we are both getting nowhere.

It’s midnight and I’m still waiting for your call. My number flashes up on your phone with just the smallest hint of desperation. You took one glance and shook your head disapprovingly, as if scolding a child, and return to telling your joke. You don’t notice me standing in the background, with the glazed look of a woman scorned. I hear her laughter, and it turns my insides cold. Amidst this game of love and war, I vowed to never gamble my heart away, I have learned to love living more.

3 am rolls around and your whiskey soaked breath is next to mine, whispering dark fantasies not meant for daylight. I’m expected to nurse your hangover in the morning, but now I’m wide awake, nursing the terrible thoughts you’ve planted in my head. You think you might love me, but we both know I love you more. Reality is unforgiving to hopeless optimists who still believe in magic. It takes courage to bear unwavering faith, it takes a fool.

I am waiting for you to prove me wrong again.

I am begging you to prove me right instead. 


I am mesmerised by the idea of you. It has been too long since someone was able to capture my attention with uncompromising force, and create such a convincing illusion of instant intimacy.

I can’t remember the last time someone touched me like they were painting a masterpiece on my skin. You reached out for fragments I buried when I shed my innocence seven summers ago, and I am still trying to figure out how you saw the parts of me no one else even knew about. The bruises he left faded long ago yet I always felt their sting whenever I found myself tangled to new skin. But this time it felt different, it was the first time I’d been held by someone who made me feel clean.

I am unnerved by the image of you. I have insanity carved into my bones, I crave the cheap thrills of temporary madness, I saw a storm in your eyes and it is captivating, now I can’t bring myself to leave. You pulled me closer and I wanted you closer still, never pausing to contemplate the origins of your easy charm. You tasted like the winds of Autumn, sheltered by faint notes of tobacco, dangerously addictive. You brought back memories I thought were lost forever, and when I breathed you in, I felt like treasure again.

I am falling for your clever lies. I’m sitting here trying to recreate your crooked smile, the unmistakable smug satisfaction derived from a lifetime of privilege, of never having to hear the word ‘no’, because you are too hard to refuse. I have the unfortunate habit of forgetting that the high is never worth the low, but with you, it didn’t feel like a crime to be kissed. You brought back a side of me I forgot even existed, you make me feel whole again.

I am plotting my defences, rebuilding walls that you teared down mercilessly. I am afraid of falling in love with you, and having to watch you fall out of love with me. It is like awakening from a deep slumber, they took and took from me till I was a shell of the girl I used to be, but you’re standing at my doorstep now with flowers and promises of new beginnings. You’re drawing me close, my hands are pinned down and you whisper that I’m the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. I look into your eyes and all I want to do is stay, stay, stay.

If you set fire to my heart, I’ll burn us both to the ground, baby. 


A part of her enjoyed the ambiguity, never knowing where they stand. It adds a layer of intrigue to the game, when everything is open to interpretation, anything can happen.

It is the unknown that allows us to dream, to imagine what could have been and what might still be. I am in my own sick world of fantasy, dreaming of summer highs and untouched by reality, unscathed by life’s arduous lessons, I am reborn.

We talked politics, science, religion, and I questioned his faith. Hours vanished and when I closed my eyes I no longer cared what the world thought of me. I pictured what it would be like to wake up to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, whether it would resemble a seamless coexistence or share the bitter taste of lingering regret. I wondered what it would be like if this didn’t have to end. Whether it was a future of possibilities or merely temporary infatuation. He tells the most beautiful lies, but all good things must come to an end.

I am envious of those who sleep peacefully, unperturbed by the troublesome nature of existing, because life has been kind to them. You see fire in my eyes but I didn’t come here to ruin you, I didn’t come here to hold you either but now I can’t seem to stop. This is more than lust, more than flowers and fine words but a deviant formula, an unnatural intimacy between strangers.

When we cross the invisible line of visibility, when our clothes come off, the lights come on, and our bodies dance, I urge you to see more. I grant you the illusion that I am falling, but I am painting constellations in your lifeline and when you let go, I’ll remain volant. It is the greatest curse of the human condition, to be blessed with a kind heart and a gentle spirit; but with love on my hands, I will rewrite the ending to our story.


Standing at the airport again with my bags in one hand and your goodbyes clutched in the other. Life amuses all by playing tricks on us and I’m picking up the pieces where you left them, we’re alone again but this time I don’t feel lonely when I’m not holding your hand. Our story began two years ago when I fell asleep in your arms, but now I can hardy remember the last time I woke up from a dream that didn’t involve a nightmare. I saw you smiling in the light at the end of the tunnel, you whispered my name, tears streamed down my face and all was well again. No humble apologies required this time, I forgive you for all your transgressions. I remember the capacity of human error, I understand your mistakes, I am letting you go.

Remember we are all living on borrowed time, and one day these mistakes will all be erased, the world will be a better place without us. But there is darkness emanating through me, and everything I touch turns to dust, it is the curse of your love. I am caught in the labyrinth of your imagination, the inner workings and twisted mind of a madman. I am staring at the stars, searching for my origins, hoping to hear a voice of comfort or a whisper of something, someone please, remind me that I am alive, and this is more than a dream. I want to wake up.

Something inside me has been wounded, or maybe I have always been this way. Maybe the cracks were always there and you merely removed the stitches, maybe you set me free. But the higher I fly the harder I’ll fall and the fear is what drives me, it’s driving me insane. I look into your eyes hoping to find mercy, but all I see is the unforgiving cruelty of a lunatic, the remnants of a brilliant mind, clouded by depravity and sadistic intentions. You have come here to hurt me, at last. I have waited a long time for you someone like you.




I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted everything. For those who feel the graze of death too young, we always want more. We become too aware of the finite amount of time we have been designated, and desperately want to experience all that is possible before it’s over. I want the good, the bad, the ugly, and I ignore the consequences with a fierce determination. I refuse to test the waters, and dive right in without a care for the repercussions. I’ve always chosen all or nothing, never in between; I detest purgatory. I want so much that nothing ever feels like enough, I am insatiable in every meaning of the word. I am a sinner without remorse, I am a liar unfamiliar with guilt, I am a heart breaker and your best lover, I am the fallen.

I believe when the universe was created, when we were merely stardust, our atoms found each other once and we continue to drift back again and again, attracted to the same energy of our beginnings, and that is what makes us feel complete. But I am not searching for my better half, I am not seeking completeness, I am patiently waiting to be broken. I want to unravel in your arms, I want you to be strong enough to break me, study the shattered pieces, be the sole witness to my destruction. I need you to find beauty in my pain.

When I looked into your eyes and found traces of rage and insanity, I felt my heart beat faster and my soul begin to ache. This was it, checkmate, this is game, fatal attraction. I am drawn to a quality I can’t quantify, an aura I can’t explain, a force to be reckoned with. I love playing with fire, I cannot live without risk. But if you want to bring out the worst in me, you must prepare for carnage. If you wish to tame me, you must know how to handle me broken. If you want to be let in, I promise to make your world spin. If you plan to take control, prepare to have your reality stolen. This is not a task for the weak-minded, I demand the spirit of a champion.

But if you find yourself lost in the moment, if you feel your heart flutter in an unsettling manner, remember I am not safe to keep. If you find yourself falling for illusions, searching for answers, remember I am full of beautiful lies and nightmares that scar. If you find yourself staring into my soul and you are not afraid, you should remember that love is the most dangerous game in our universe. There may be two villains in our story, but only one will have a broken heart.


I said I wanted you to take control, but I never said I would make it easy for you. Obedience never comes without a catch, and the tricks I’ve hidden are designed to make this game more interesting for you, I want us to bring out the worst in each other.

When the lights come flashing on and you wrap you hands around my throat, forcing me to focus on only what little air is left, I find myself trusting you more than what is wise. When the beat drops and my legs feel weak you know exactly when to catch me. When the music becomes more than blind noise, a kiss is all we needed at that moment, but you already knew this.

Drowning in the crowds, the music, the lights, the high, and the instant when I realised I didn’t need him, because you are all carved from the same stone. Different varieties of the same type of terrible, my favourite type of drug. I don’t need you to tell me lies, but if you insist, know that braver men than you have failed to pay the price. If this is not your cup of tea I dare you to drink up anyway, let the smoke fumes swallow us both, filling us with sources of euphoria, eliminating weakness.

You are smart enough to recognise my poison, but not wise enough to walk away unscathed. You said I’m a beauty with a bite, so I bit hard and left marks for all your other lovers to find. You know I’m dangerous but you come back for more every time I push you away. You think I’m a good girl gone bad but I don’t admit that I’m bad to the bone, rotten to the core. I’ll take your Mollys and Lucys and leave you with scars and burns for memories.

I’m pinned against your bedroom wall and your hands are shackles around my wrists, your lips are close and your breath tastes of lust. This is the part where we ought to wake up, but we’re lost in the music again and you promise me it will be an unforgettable adventure. We never speak of love but we are all too familiar with infatuation, with the feel of skin on skin, and I saw destruction in your eyes, you couldn’t wait to break me. You promise me it will be a beautiful kind of pain.

The air is torn around us and our bodies are synced to the music, you can feel me crawling back to you. The shadows of our tired frames are nothing compared to the shadows of my past but you’ve always been a little obsessed with the dark and twisted. You’re leading me on a path to ruin but you promise me the view is worth it. We’re smoking next to a pool, I lean back against your shoulders and dip my fingers into the water; it felt like bliss. I could feel everything, and nothing at all.


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