Blank Canvass

Sometimes a blank Canvass isn’t as empty as it seems.

Sometimes the blank speaks words that the artist is too afraid to say – like a silence on a page between two lovers who know that their end is near.

A silence between someone very sick and their very best friend.

A stare into each other’s blank canvasses.

I have stared into the dark night sky and wondered on the wonders that it could possibly beqeauth my poor, sundress soul.

I have walked with spirits in my dreams, the spirits that haunt my heart in the most warm and loving way – like an offering for a hug from a long lost friend on a weary road.

I have seen Dan in my past, and looked for him in my future, but all I have seen is piss-poor regret having not seen him when I wanted to.

I have not seen a future without negativity; but at least there’s her in it.

Sometimes when she’s sad, it makes me sad which disappoints me when I’ve had a really good day. She’s never happy when I am.

Its something I must live with, because I love her very much – I don’t feel like I have to prove my love for her, I feel that she knows, which she should.

I just wish she could be happy, and that it’s something I could incite within her, like a spark to a flame – be the bellows to her forge. But I


Is It Over?


Is happiness over? Do I really have to admit that, again, I am depressed?

Is this because of me doing bad at work, because I can never seem to make B happy, because I ignore her to play my games when realistically that is both what I want and the last thing I want, and both are for her and for me? Is it because I hate myself but not enough to do anything about it? Is it because I work for such a beautiful charity and despite that I can’t seem to do well enough to raise money for it?

Do I just miss Dan?

Every day. Every day I miss Dan. I miss everything him.

I feel alone, but I know I’m not, I know she’s there, I know she is, I love her, but I don’t feel like I’m there.

I wish I was happy.

I wish money was no object

I wish time was forever.

I wish I could live in the past and the present.

I haven’t written in a while

So, here I am.

It’s been months since we fell to our knees and allowed the waves to wash over our fragmented bodies. They lie wasted like marionettes buried in sand tombs filled in with paper mache for a sculptor to use in his latest project.

Dad. Where are you? Where were you? Why, why, why did you do the things you did? Sex is a disgusting, miserable waste of the human existence and it truly brings out the worst in us: there is no justifying rape. It is just something that can never be right.

I don’t know if there’s such thing as good and evil but I do know that there is perceived right and wrong. Rape is definitely a wrong. But what would be right? Would it be right to take from the rich to give to the poor? Would it be right if I killed someone who was about to kill me? Is that not just selfish? Nowadays people call that self defence. What a world we live in: where the fat are taxed on their sugar intake and where skin colour is separated into white and black like their bodies define their souls but it’s not the case.

It’s not.

Skin colour doesn’t define the human race.

But what does? What makes you, you? What is it that cries in the darkest of night that means that you get to live one more second but a boy in Syria has to rock his mother to sleep; she hears only the sounds of her husband screaming in pain as bombs fall around them. Her son wishes for a brighter future; one where charities don’t need to exist. Very importantly, he does not wish for a different future: he wants this to have happened. He knows that if it did not happen as it is happening, then we will not learn that it should never happen again.

There are 8 million children in and around Syria that have been displaced by a 7 year war that they have nothing to do with. Realistically, the war should have ended, and we should be mourning those that we have lost. Not those close to us, not our soldiers, all of them.

War is a terrible, beautiful, necessary wrong.