The first volume of A Journal for Damned Lovers is a collection of prose that documents the fledgling footsteps of a failed lover-come-writer. Beginning with the end of romance and leading to the discovery that a desire to write is not only a healing mechanism but a way of embracing a fearful new Read more

She clutch her belly and complain she got the ache and nothing can be done about it. No, nothing at all. Shaking her head, she goes limp and closes her eyes pretending to faint. A few seconds pass. Slowly opening one eye, she looks at me then shuts it again. Taking off my shirt, I Read more

Got me a brown paper bag full of goodies that be bad for the heart but good for my art. Beer, sweets, smokes and stuff. And a copy of a magazine my nan used to buy. It’s full of real-life stories. Stories about real people, people unlike myself. I’m far too vague for that shit. Read more

She spins among the leaves, and just like that, she becomes the storm that’s needed to blow away the trash and scum that do their best to blight her life. With her arms stretched out as far as they can go, the birds come down from the sky and perch themselves upon her, and when Read more

Lovers on the train doing their best to prove to the world their love is for real. Lovers wishing with all they have to convince themselves and others they’re happy and not sad at all. She eyes them up with disdain. Bunch of fucks. Bunch of lying, insecure, weak-as-shit fucks. Ripping up a sheet of Read more

She kicks the ground and an hour passes just like that. Ain’t no sun today, just grey skies and the nagging feeling that life was meant for other people. Dust swirls around her feet, and as she stands there with both hands plunged into her pockets, she can’t quite decide if it’s a thing of Read more

There be lightning outside, and a growl of thunder followed by a mouthful of semi-expensive white wine. The one with the image of the devil on the label. Streets illuminate, and for a second, night becomes day. Among the trees, the eyes of the animals can be seen, only to quietly recede. The TV throws Read more

She got these marks on her arms. Little ones. Little scratches like those you get from bared cat claws, but ain’t no cat done these. These done by glass, maybe scissor. Could be she dragged the instrument over that pale flesh cause she was bored. Could be she wanted to fight pain with pain. Or Read more

I’m hanging around on some street. It’s hot, balmy, and when I close my eyes, I can tell she’s nearby. I can’t see her, but I can feel her. I always feel her. Each beat of her heart mirrors my own, and just like that, I clap my hands and stand on the tips of Read more