I’m done with my sighs,
These ever exhausting breaths,
All my restless nights,
Lead into endless days

My heart is weary,
Yet larger it still grows
It fractures bitterly my chest,
Cracks as fine as spiderwebs


Retitled : If truth be

And if truth be told,
As we all know it must
Beauty has grace
And poor love, is its folly

But Beauty must fade
Leaving but a ghost of grace
Grey and withered, Beauty’s champion
Now in steady decline

Love has none of this,
its companions saved of beauty’s decline
young forever, joyfully biding their time


I wrote this some time ago, and posted it at the end of another post. It always had a name, i just didn’t know it.

Dear London

Dear London

You are in my bones,

flowing through my blood,

weaved in my memories,

inhaled in every breath.

A Lover

A love letter to the capital – the city i call home, i love and hate in equal measure, sometimes both at the same time, sometimes one more than the other.