Search

hsphaven

Haven for the living Princess and the Pea

Category

Creative pieces

Mistress of the Sea

Mistress of the Sea, they call you.

But I now know you were a siren,

And I was a sailor riding your sea of bitterness and sorrow,

Lured by your enchanting music

To shipwreck on the rocky coast of your island.  

Swim Sea Water Mystical Wave Sirens Mermaid
Source: Maxpixel

The idea of you

I cannot shake the idea of you

Your sweetness a computer program installed in my head and heart.

It cannot be deleted

even now I find it’s infected with viruses

that are taking over my entire system,

destroying me from the inside out.

the lonely ballad

empty wallet

porcelain tooth

fill me up

with your seduce

ride with me into the night

wing my dreams and give them flight

cute bike riding pic FINAL

Little Black Riding Hood

No one knew how it started, but Little Red Riding Hood wasn’t the same. Her family described her as the most ungracious child. She did not help out around the house, she scattered her belongings everywhere, she fought with her mother and she no longer saw her friends. She stopped going to school and slept all day instead. One day she traded in her red riding hood for one in black, the only trace of her old self the red ballet flats she wore. She then left home and moved into her grandma’s old house in the forest which had been vacant for years since the woman’s death. Continue reading “Little Black Riding Hood”

Empty veins

I will probably need to give this post a trigger warning, though to reassure anyone who is concerned, I opted instead to bleed with words.

Empty veins

I examine the blue veins highwaying my wrist

where your fingers rested a paper-slice away from my life force.

Veins visible and dramatic beneath my anorexic physique and translucent skin.

Veins like roots protruding the surface,

my insides and my dreams laid bare

for you to tender, if you wish, or slay. 

 

I imagine slitting these veins.

These veins, once bursting with your love.

These veins now waterless river channels meandering to my heart.

Emptied as fast as they were filled.

Helplessly waiting for the next rain fall.

Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.

Dying more and more as each day drags on.

The angel and the devil,

the villain and the hero,

Are one and the same.

So I push away both

and return to a solitary world

behind closed doors,

behind the stillness of night, my only friend,

and behind my bags yet to be unpacked.

Bags stained with the sour taste of my final day

when the silence, perhaps, said all there was to speak.

Merry-go-round of life

Cars swirling round and round

Their whir a daily greeting

soon to be followed by the clunk of the cleaner

rattling down the hallway

Lingering, like the pong of chlorine or artificial fragrance,

Scrubbing and vacuuming floors barely trodden

Replacing towels unused

Over and over. Continue reading “Merry-go-round of life”

Daughter of Juniper Icewitch

Born of the blizzards, of blankets of white and of trembling water, she is both mesmerising and dangerous. Her world is desolate, and she is sad and lonely, especially as Jupiter Icewitch keeps her locked in a tower of ice.

One day, through the window of her prison, she spies a traveller from a faraway land. The fog is thick but she manages to make out the outline of a young girl. As the girl nears the tower, Juniper Icewitch’s daughter sticks her arm through the bars of the window and waves furiously. She then reaches into her hair of needle-leaves and extracts a branch for the traveller, dropping it through the window.

The young traveller makes her way up the tower, following a spiral stairway until she reaches the door of the prison. As no one ever visited these hostile lands, Juniper Icewitch had left the key in the door. The traveller turns the key and enters. She then returns the key to Juniper Icewitch’s daughter.

The young traveller comes from a land of flowing water and trees which reach for the stars. She is confident, popular and bursting with life. Juniper Icewitch’s daughter envies the girl, so she sprints for the door, slams it behind her and locks it. She then flees her dreary world and tells everyone a story of tragedy and triumph, of how, for years, she was locked in a prison but she managed to survive and break free. She elicits the sympathy and admiration of all who hear her tale. She is commended for her bravery, strength and dignity. None hear the story of the young traveller, who remains in that prison to this day.

An account of a “mixed episode”

This is an account I have written about my recent “mixed episode”. I agree with Kimberly over at themighty.com (a great read by the way) that there’s not enough written about what these actually feel like. I also think they could be better diagnosed; I am only just learning about the mixed features of my own depression which have been overlooked by professionals all these years.

 

It is not ordinary depression nor is it mania

But a concoction of the two,

A mad science experiment,

Where the worst aspects of both have been combined. 
Continue reading “An account of a “mixed episode””

Invisible

Every day she’s so depressed and angry and in pain. All she wants to do is sleep but today she was woken by her mother’s guests. Now she must lie awake and suffer. She suffers silently behind closed doors, closed blinds and under the blankets of her bed while laughter fills the house. Her dark room is both her refuge and torture chamber, the darkness seeping into every bone and tissue of her body to the point the pain becomes physical. She breathes and exhales darkness. There are no tears; she lies in a dried up riverbed, thoroughly scorned and beaten by life.

dried river 3

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑