There was this one time,

Many, many years ago,

Where I slipped into a river.

Succumbed by water,

I tried to swim, tried to breathe.

Opened my eyes to see.

Pink. No, red.

Red water?

I was swimming in blood.

Letting it enter my body,

Letting it give me life.

Flailing limbs relaxed,

Freezing skin warmed.

Air drew to a stop.

But as long as I had my blood,

I could go on forever.

I could become infinite.

Eternally condemned

To floating and drowning. 


I was sitting with May in class

When the teacher questioned me.

Unfair, I thought. Why always me?

I turned to my friend and eyed her.

“Why not her?” I asked.

Everyone turned and looked.

My friend began to laugh, so I did too.

Nothing was funny, but we continued.

The teacher moved on,

No attention was paid,

But after class, she asked that I stay.

I thought it was to be told off,

But instead, she asked something else.

“Who were you talking to?”

I looked at her. “May, my friend.”

Who else would it have been?

She stared at me, long and hard,

And told me one more thing.

“There was no May in this room.

There was no May next to you.”

I walked out of there as fast as I could,

Only to find May waiting patiently.

“What did she tell you?” She wondered.

“Nothing,” I simply stated.


Your eyes are stone cold,

Coloured with a dead black,

Lit with a blank expression

And surrounded by missed sleep.


Your hands are icy and damp,

Covered in your salty sweat,

Riddled with blue pen ink

And shaking with missed sleep.


Your hair is inches from death,

Portraying your soul’s small fire,

Flowing down like dried spaghetti

And uncared for from missed sleep.


Your light is shining thin,

One blow from being extinguished,

Flickering like a candle at night

And miscoloured by missed sleep.


Your body is brittle and blue,

Shaking from the strain,

Faltering as if your soul has gone

And dead caused by missed sleep.