Shopping centre at night, old ladies’ delight. A cuppa and Turkish Delight. My mother will never learn, haggard and careworn, to shop for an evening gown. Whispering ‘How nice!’

Things That Don’t Matter: Singing in public places

Hatred and jelousy started it all. Hurt and pain brought our fall. No one is perfect we've all made mistakes. This constant beating causes my body to ache.

These injuries are hard to heal. My haunting nightmares appear so real. Everday so dark and unclear. My wholo body tenses up in fear.

Gossip. Oscar Wilde once remarked that the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about. But is it really true that words can never hurt you?

poem

Ounces of scrawny light segued through cracks in the basement window at the Hopkins Library, stressing a visual taint of her tired eyes