Tag Archives: death

Triggers of grief

Grief comes in waves

A trigger of a memory

A word or two heard in passing

Thoughts of them come to you

Trespassing your mind

You can’t help it, you find

You love those memories, but they make you sad

Bittersweet, you feel bad

Guilty that you don’t want the memories, guilty you think of them

Moving on is difficult because it hurts again and again

Any little trigger will make you think of those

Who are in the heavens, those whose death caused you woes

But you know that you love them and happy memories you did share

But why does it have to hurt so much? 

When they are no longer there?

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Filed under poetry

We all die

Its terminal

Life

Everyone dies

Many try to escape this fate

But it is really a stupid mistake

For we all die

It’s no lie

Why cry like you didn’t expect it?

Why?

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Filed under poetry

I shall become a bore

I’ve screwed up in a major way

Running truths off my tongue like an ever flowing tap

Drowning the people who listen to my words

Dragging them under the currents of my despair

Till there is no one left to care

My tongue will be the death of me

Always yapping about this and that

Thinking people can cope with that

But they never do

One day I’ll learn to be mute

Then I’ll be a mystery to all

Holding my tongue

Maintaining a wall

Till perhaps one day I won’t be lonely anymore

Just someone who hardly speaks about herself

A bore

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Filed under poetry

My heart My Mind

My heart is like a raven, driven to lunacy

Tearing at its own fibres, because of the wrought words that were thrown at it by cruel tongues

Killing itself as it pulls itself to pieces

Getting ever blacker as its beat slows down to its death

Till its last breath

And then it dies

My mind is like a salted slug contorted with pain, driven insane

Clenching to itself as it aches for loving words

It feels so cursed by its suppressers

Unable to express their desires, fraught with anxiety

Bitten by society and their lies

Then it too dies

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Filed under poetry

Love song for suicide

My dreams were coming

Then shattered by jealousy, wrecked

Blood is pretty when it’s pumping

Beautiful liquid rubies – perfect

I am bathed in the blood that served my life

Blood, tears, wet with strife

How can you do this to the one you love?

Because she didn’t love you too –

You know that you didn’t love her then

If you played with jealousy as a tool

Smashing opposition with lies and games

Just what exactly were your aims?

I trust in God and God will serve

Someday you’ll get what you deserve

But it won’t be me, because I’ll be dead

Because of all the lies you’ve fed

Let that on your conscience be

Apparently, you loved me.

But I said no and so you vied

And because you did

It’s why I’ve died.

Written 8:50pm 24th February 2023

Currently, I am struggling with dark thoughts, because of some stupid games people are playing.

One of which won’t take “no” for an answer, whilst apparently spreading lies behind my back that I am dating them, to people that I do actually like.

I am dating no one right now and holding out until the person I really like is ready and I know from others he is busy right now.

Leave the playground.

Stop the games.

My life is bad enough as it is without all this bitter jealousy from complete strangers.

At the moment, I am trying hard to keep positive. Trying not to reach for the rat poison or razors.

You don’t love me if you can go behind my back, lie about me and ruin my future with someone else because you can’t have me, as I said NO how many times now? That’s not love, that is selfishness, it’s not nice.

Think about what you are doing.

Rodents are nasty little critters aren’t they? But can they really gnaw through a heart of steel? I don’t think so, so please stop trying.

Thanks for reading, and sorry for the drama to my other readers.

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Filed under About Me, poetry

Are dreams real?

What are dreams?

Safe places to go to each night when you sleep all wrapped up cosy in your warm blankets and allow yourself some peace for the rest of the night.

A place where you can live out all your desires, including or excluding at your pleasure whoever comes and goes within it – it’s a time to play, inside your dreams!

A place where you won’t be judged and a place where you won’t get fat eating that burger or ten pounds of candy floss

But what is a dream when it becomes real and haunts you during the day, teasing you of its presence in reality?

But never really letting you know it’s there…

Hints, signs, cryptic messages, shadows and whispers

Those dreams are real and your life is about to change exponentially! 

What then?

Do we dream no more?

Do we live the dream?

Do we become the dream?

Are we alive?

Are we dead?

Are we real at all?

Were we ever?

02:53am 24th February 2023

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Filed under flash fiction

The butterflies sting

I told you not to touch the butterfly

Lest she falls apart

I told you not to touch her

But you couldn’t help your heart

Now she’s broken into bits

She’s fading fast like snow

Because of broken dreams

You have caused her woe

You couldn’t help but touch her wings

You couldn’t leave her be

Now she’s melted in your hand

But you still don’t see

You are to blame for her little life

Fading and now it’s gone

You couldn’t help but touch her

Though you knew it’s wrong

You were enchanted by her spirit

You were enamoured by her wings

You really thought your touch was light

You didn’t think you’d sting

But I knew the butterfly

And her heart was made of snow

To touch her has killed her

Now you cry with woe

Maybe you are now a butterfly

And now you fly on delicate wings

Maybe someone will hear you cry

Don’t touch me, it will sting!

Poor little butterflies

Unloved and forever alone

Because their heart can’t take it

Their broken hearts unsewn

And people think they fake it

Though they surely do not

But to touch a butterfly wings

Will cause those wings to rot

Do not touch a butterfly

Let them flitter on and pass you by

If they land upon you – great!

But please do not make that mistake!

Do not touch those delicate wings

Do not be the butterflies’ sting

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Filed under poetry

Someone New

A thousand years I have been a drain

A drain on human life

Living within the shadows

Drinking and spreading strife

I leave a trail of mourners

My legacy is real

Every night is someone new

Someone new I kill

A thousand years and still I go

Spreading death and causing woe

A thousand more I may yet exist

Because I was cursed when I was kissed

Granted the gift of eternal life

Cursed to spread death and strife

I exist to cause you pain

So each night I rise again

Someone new is approaching now

Someone new will die, I vow

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Filed under poetry

I trust wildlife

One of my crows died this morning, Kerr.

I heard a hullabaloo outside and looked out the window to see their offspring mourning on the grass verge and the rest of the murder in the sky trying to dive bomb away the local buzzard which was trying to swoop down to eat the remains.

I liked Kerr, he was quite old.

It’s odd it should happen the day after I was talking to Paul about how I haven’t seen Scruffy for weeks, another crow I like.  A female, her mate is called the Sentinel by me, as he seems to watch the house and me more than the others.

Barbar was really distressed.

I’ve lost two of my crows in a short space of time as well as a magpie, which I believed was killed by his own family.

He was a runt by comparison, I called him Rocky.  He would sit on the window ledge and was so tame I could nearly stroke him when the window was opened.  He had an obsession with a pebble that he carried everywhere with him, he was unusually thin and although he was about a year old – he was still being fed by his family, sometimes forcibly.  I think they killed him as he was a burden, he never grew up and he was quite strange for a magpie.

I miss him too.

I am silly like this, I get attached to the local wildlife and name them and I will try to tame them when they come into my garden and care for them. 

A few years ago Paul wanted to take me to live with him in Canada, but our plans fell through due to my ill-health.  He always said, he could imagine me on the porch surrounded by bears and raccoons and hand feeding them berries, treating them all like pets!

I actually think that would have happened too, if we had gone!

I am rather shamanic and very brave around all animals.

I have nearly touched a real live bear once too – they were passive, I got within two inches of their snout before their keeper stopped me in my tracks.  You see I had found a way through the bars of a zoo cage to touch them.  It was a friendly bear and it sniffed my hand and tilted its head like it was going to let me stroke it.  That zoo made renovations very quickly after this happened.

I had a deep sense of trust it wasn’t going to hurt me, because I could read its energy. 

But that’s just me, a feral creature in her own right with a deep understanding for nature; humans are far more dangerous than any bear!

All I think about is love, I send love to the animal, peace, I don’t have a fleeting feeling of fear at all – I feel happy, content, loving, peaceful and trusting and say over in my head like I am talking to the animal itself – I just want to share my love, I won’t hurt you, let me touch you. 

Thanks for reading!

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Filed under spirituality

Romance with death

So many things are taking up space in my mind over the past few days; I am finding it hard to concentrate on anything but emotional presence, which is strange because I usually try to avoid acknowledging my emotions as much as possible, or at least as minimal as possible.

I don’t really know much about meditation other than what I have learned in books and on YouTube.

I have never had a guided meditation – so I don’t really know if the meditation I did a few days ago called “Who am I”? Has anything to do with it, but it’s a strange coincidence if it hasn’t.

When I am not drifting off into trance-like stupors losing twenty minutes a time, I try to sit and focus on writing something for my blog or towards my stories or reading a book, only for me to be absorbed yet again in my emotions.

There is a voice at the back of my head telling me that I need to go through this process as it is healing me in preparation for something big coming into my life.

If I want to cry, do it – but I still try to hold back.

I never did get into the crying yoga I said I was interested in – I kind of know deep down it is something I need… but I still hold back.

I often try not to be emotionally present so it is all new to me.  I try to shut away my emotions into a coffin, put it into a wardrobe and throw the wardrobe into a lake tied up with ropes and rocks so I don’t remember them… until a drought comes at least.

Not that I fly tip or anything, I am being metaphorical – some people can take things too seriously!

I think there are some readers out there that takes me too seriously too – sometimes when my depression kicks in and I make all these creative works of poetry, I sometimes sit back and laugh at how tragic I was for those moments and I feel stupid and slightly embarrassed by yet another emotional outburst. 

I think it is good for you to know that sometimes when I have got it all out creatively, I do laugh at myself – because of how pathetic I come across.  Some days though, I am quite serious and often think about death very seriously after writing such things… but a good third to near half of the time I find humour in my tragedy, like some kind of sad clown story.

I do see myself as a pitiful sad clown a lot of the time.  The kind of clown that will sit in the grey in dirty dusty clown clothes, with a black cone hat and grey pom poms on it, sitting miserably alone in their own grey tragedy – then suddenly opens the door of their house to jump off the cliff that’s waiting just beyond the threshold only he is saved by a rainbow bridge and whilst he is standing on that rainbow bridge he magically transforms into a colourful rainbow clown and laughs at his own sorrow and skips off down the curve of the rainbow to play with the faeries!

Well that’s how I visualise myself anyway.

Dark sense of humour at times!

But you have to admit though, the depths I go, the sarcasm at times, the irony etc. – I see myself as ironic, my humour is definitely ironic and I know because I have been told multiple times that my humour is lame – but you’ve got to admit, sometimes it’s funny?

Was never meant to be, but boy I can get too deep at times cant I? Its almost like a romance with death and despair!

Well, if I didn’t laugh I’d cry and which one is better eh?

I’m trying so hard not to be a Sylvia Plath, not going down her route.

However, my depression is very real.  Have no doubt about that.

Thank you for reading… 

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Filed under About Me