There is something ritual about it,

the morning stock-take

of new imperfections

sleep softened but dawning

in the mirror’s first take cut.


Some can be teased or tweased

slipped beneath another skin,

of crafted contours,

folded to hide the everyday

not found anywhere but reality.


The tally builds like glass bottles,

one hundred hanging on a wall

but if one should fall

there shall be ninety-nine

and a smile to hide its absence.


When there are none left to shatter

you will see the shell crack,

hollow and so deathly dark

even the light whimpers, wanes

and withers into something cold.




Daily Post: Ceremony


Despite the warning signs

I pressed myself against your skin,

let the acid burn away my fingerprints

until only teeth were left

to identify the body by.


You were poison and venom,

though it’s unclear how

the first dose was administered.

If you closed your mouth

around my throat

or if I sank my fangs into you.


What doesn’t kill you

can make you stronger.

Or shift the basis of your DNA

until the mutations

become the building block

of something new and half done.


When I recognized us

for the first time

I didn’t know my own face.

Something that toxic

could never be real.

Daily Prompt: Toxic

When The Words Fall Out

The words are out before I can catch them,

dropped like stones in a pond

they create waves the second they land

and sink too deep for me to fish them out.

I cannot return them to my mouth

where they should have stayed,

where my teeth should have acted like prison bars,

keeping the rabble locked away

out of sight and out of mind,

so you wouldn’t see the mess

I’ve been sweeping beneath the carpet

every time you come to visit.

Like every loud and sudden noise,

they inspire silence in their wake.

A look of confusion as you reach for them.

You turn them over in the light

only to find you can’t identify

what it is I’ve let slip of.

Instead you dust off your hands

so the stones turn to petals and crumble.

It is almost like I never said them at all.

Daily Prompt: Messy



Have you tried turning it off and back on again?

I know you’re not a computer,

this isn’t an issue of overloading

or not enough space on the hard-drive

but really

most things can benefit

from a little reboot from time to time.

But perhaps it’s a connection issue?

We could give the cable a good wiggle,

turn it over

a strong blow to clear the dust,

see if it fits in better that way up?

Daily Post – Restart


When I woke it was with me,

curled around my shoulders like a scarf

both there and not,

tickling the hairs on the back of my neck

as I shuffled around the kitchen

to brew the tea and start breakfast,

crockery clinking between my hands

while it whispered around me.

Seeing the shadow across the door

brought relief.

The same as when someone balances a plate

too far beyond the edge of a counter

but you can’t do anything except watch it waver

half way between safe and broken.

When it finally hits the ground

shattering into bright, white slithers

that dance across the tiles into every corner

the chord snaps and you can breath again.

It’s the waiting that drains you

until there’s nothing left to give.

Daily Prompt: Premonition 

This is the fourth poem I’ve posted today here on writing and works, I’ve been trying to write more poetry and I’ve found the more I write the easier it gets. It’s also helping me improve my poetry so if you’ve got the time any feedback would be greatly appreciated.

I’d particularly like your thoughts on a piece called Legs Eleven .¬† It’s a little more political and perhaps personal that my normal fare but I hope it’s a poem with a little more power as well.

Thank you for reading.