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Wait, Dr Who?

July 31, 2017

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Before I bleed

July 4, 2017

Before I bleed


Behind the shades, my tears.

Like black pearls they roll down.

My face has darkened with fears.

My old warm and bright-red friend,

now I can’t request euthanasia.

It’s another breakdown, but it ain’t the end.


Wait. Am I depressed or is it just PMS?


Why after all these years?

Why is there a new melt-down?

I swear I haven’t drunk more than 2 beers.


Always in the never-ending mend,

there’s no more need for anaesthesia.

Quick! Mumble something and hit send.


Message delivered. The worst is over, I must confess.



Steadily, heavily craving my gummy bears.

I’m tempted. Still wearing my dressing gown.

So old I feel after a couple of Smears.


A blade? No, but a cold towel you can lend.

I don’t know if you’d call this synaesthesia:

colours and sounds start to blend.


Whatever, I’m fine. But next time I ask for a hug, please just say YES…


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