Co-written by Myself & J  Matthew Waters



Are you jealous

Of the space between us

Filled with darkness

And twinkling stars


Bereft of passion

The green patina of sarcasm

Lobs my way


Have you forgotten

All those years

Reduced to a mere photograph

Safekept under glass



In an unmanned




Why did you build that bomb

The one that divided us

A mushroom cloud of discontent

Hovering overhead


As our atom split

Turning two into too many nights

Alone and cold in the dark

I tried to seek a sign up above

Past an endless sky without light


Finally I ask myself am I the one

Am I jealous of the space between us

Of the fragile photograph kept under glass


Was it me who built that bomb

Did I hover in discontent

Watching as we split

Lonely in this silo in the dark



Copyright July 2015


In Therapy

Going to see a Psychiatrist is, I now know, just like having someone saw off the top of your head, stir your brains around with a great, big, wooden spoon and then stitch it all back up again and send you home. This all occurs without an anaesthetic……the anaesthetic comes later!

After my first two hour session of form signing, quiz filling outing {I love quizzes} and brain squeezing I went home in a daze, still no closer to a verdict. I’m still no closer after a second session. Maybe one day I’ll find out what and who I am, at the moment my view on me is changing slightly. I’m not quite as Aspergery as I thought I was. The mind cleaning revealed quite an emotional me. The Psychiatrist knew which of my buttons to push. This in itself is quite scary, having someone understand me so well……having someone with the power to lock me up if I fall apart at some future stage know all about me, all my inner workings. I have enough problems with trust as it is so revealing has been difficult, but necessary.

So here I am…in therapy, not exactly loving it but for the first time in ages, quite sure I do have a future waiting for me to write on.

Copyright July 2015


lonely chair by greg mackie

Photo: Lonely Chair by Greg Mackie



Steamy scenes

She melts


At his feet


Desire streaked

Puddle of dreams

Lost in the sensations

Neurons firing


Eyes shut to the world


Sends her over the edge

Craziness rules

The heat

It’s all about the heat



She takes

The seat



Copyright January 2014




after glow
of flash
cars boxed in
safe from the solar burn
the world reduces itself to ashes
the car park stands
safe from the after glow
cars boxed in
alone in desolation
a product of multinational corporate greed
envious of the end
which never comes in concrete

Copyright November 2013