She found herself embellished with little blue dots. Perfectly round, a slight sheen, and perfumed with placidity. What a feeling. She never felt that confident, that popular, and if I should say so myself, that powerful.

The colour of her soul, that many associated with words which weren’t ones she had heard of; that she started to take for granted. She began to define herself with the negatives that colour was affiliated with. But that was merely a tinge of her personality.

She loved blue because that’s what she used to paint the skies when she was a child. Regardless of it being night or day, she would paint the skies with every tint and shade she could mix up. She loved blue because that’s the colour that made messages on handmade cards pop out the brightest. Blue made uncomfortable, fluffy dresses seem bearable. Blue was the colour of her pencil box, her piggy bank, her school crest, the colour of the first ever friendship band she received. Blue was always around, in forms of flowers, flavours of the best chips, the dog who would provide clues, m&ms, a monster, a forgetful fish, a genie, a smurf and so much more.

As she grew older she found out that blue was supposed to mean gloomy, vulnerable, indifferent, and the like. Well, what a way to burst her bubble. Another thing she’d always paint blue.

So where does that leave her now?

It leaves her more in love with that colour. The flaws are so intriguing that she couldn’t help but be associated with them. Today she paints herself blue, with all its pros and cons. It’s the colour that gives her peace, that triggers a smile, it’s the colour that she always had by her side. It’s her shade of sanity.



Dear Davy Jones,


I can’t swim, I’m horrified of drowning; but I would still float on a big broken door to find your ship, somehow climb aboard, scream out your name and yell at you, “You stupid decaying shell of a semi-human, I love you.”


Why do I love your tentacled face? Simple, I turned you into the monster that the World sees you as. But you’re so much  more than that aren’t you? Your Patronus is probably  a bunny hopped up on cocaine, your dream job is to own a farm for dogs and just take care of them, your biggest fear is waking up to a World where I don’t exist, and your most hated day is the day I royally screwed you over.

I’m not even sorry, Davy.  How else will our saga reach the heights of epic Shakespearean romance if there isn’t any drama?

Am I just reasoning with myself, convincing myself  that an alternate reality exists?

Am I  wasting my hopes on you?

Am I wasting my sanity on you?

Am I wasting my heart on you?

Huh, I forgot you have claws now.  Or at least that’s the excuse you’ll use. You’re right handed and I know that. Anyway.

Guess I will never find out.


Forever yours, through decay and otherwise,



The list of lasts

The last of the year.
Was it worth the mistakes?
Was it worth the decisions?
Was it worth the tragedies?
Was it worth the fleeting moments of peace?
Was it everything you wanted to avoid, or everything you looked for?
Was it worthy of a chapter?
Or was it just a hashtag?
Was it a friend?
A familiar face?
A foe?
Was it enough to teach you; to help you choose a new brand of ammunition?
Was it your year regardless?
Will the next year be any different?
Will you?

Season Finale

Today’s story is about four very special walls.
Walls that saw much more than they were built for. Walls of a home that would moonlight as a karaoke, a bar, a talk show, an emergency room, a think tank, the latest soap opera, headquarters for life altering missions, masterchef studios, and a pop up of various other shenanigans.
Walls decorated, actually documented; with highlights, plot twists, cliffnotes and stills from so many unforgetable moments.
Walls that scared us shitless, to walls that doubled as babysitters.
The dirt that four walls have on you, not even Sherlock can gather.
Over the last decade I never thought I’d ever have to live through the season finale of F.R.I.E.N.D.S.
But unlike those walls, the ones in this story might not get that closed door shot it deserves.
But it will have the silhouettes of some very special people, leaving their keys. People who will never forget, the home of the croods.

The friend.

I have a friend who doesn’t know why, in a matter of seconds, she wants to leave wherever she is, whatever she’s doing, and teleport to a kinder memory.
A friend who doesn’t know how to explain herself because within minutes those closest to her, appear to be clad in masks of judgement.
A friend who knows she’s loved. Who knows it’s all in her head. A friend who can’t help herself.
A friend who breaks quite often.
A friend who cries easily.
A friend who either sleeps a lot, to avoid as much of human interaction as possible; or not at all, to keep the monsters at bay.
A friend who hates being inside those four walls, but the comfort of isolation is a horrifyingly beautiful thing.
A friend who doesn’t know how to apologise for her head. Or if she should apologise in the first place.
Is that reason enough?
“I’m sorry for today, my head was extra bitchy.”
My friend who won’t be taken seriously by the elders. Because “kids of today’s generation have learnt fancy words like anxiety, depression, hypertension.” “Blame their phones and their internet.” “Just excuses to gain attention.” “I feel bad for her parents.”

So many reasons to crawl back inside those four walls.

My friend, who doesn’t know how to talk about her mind to the ones she loves except maybe saying, “I have a friend…”


Here’s the final chapter,
Here’s the last story.
A cheater remains a liar,
And an ending isn’t always as bitter.

With all the love in my heart, I have just one sincere request to those who still wait for a reason.
That person didn’t get a letter to Hogwarts, they’re not magic. That person isn’t a high functioning sociopath, neither is that person the lead singer of a boy band. What I fail to see is your obsession with somebody who isn’t a wizard, a detective or Justin Timberlake.
You’re venting out about an insignificant, insecure, too-smart-for-reality, foolish little turd who doesn’t even know the difference between regardless and irregardless. And just like one, this person too isn’t actually correct.
Pick up a dictionary, find the words that best suit you.
Here’s a tip, it’s the opposite of the words you’ve been recently accused of.
Once you’ve got your words, never listen to a temporary glitch.

Thus ends the reign of turds.


Buzzz. Buzzz. Buzzz.
The familiar sound of winning a prediction which you hoped would not come true.
Another desperate attempt at freedom.
Another hasty note on emotions that can’t catch a break.
Another promise blurred out.
Another feather in the cap of good art based on broken minds.
Another record of your actions.
Another chance wrongfully spared.
Another blocked call.

Battery 1%
What a wonderful sight.