The Man in the Mirror Is Not Me

It’s Sunday morning

The calender says so

For all I know

Days don’t have names anymore


I watch my legs move forward

And backwards

My feet clumsily doing what feet do

I get him to move his arms

Just to see if they’re still working

I crack his fingers

The sound is pleasant to me

But he cringes


While climbing the stairs

I pass a mirror

There’s someone else there, not me

I look behind myself

There’s no one

Aside from the many lists

Of employees of the month

How is this possible

He copies my every movement

We walk closer to eachother, hesitating

But back off suddenly

We stare at eachother for the longest time

Both of us seemingly waiting for the other to say something

I ask him if he has a name

He flaps his lips open and shut but there’s no sound

I ask him again

Still, nothing

I decide to waste no more time

I have work soon

I walk on

Without a glance back


I watch myself scan items at a till

He’s blurting out polite jibberish again

The customers soak it up like butter on a crumpet

Day in day out

The same music

The same lyrics

How does he do it?

“Another day, another dollar”

He repeats like a mantra

I tire of it

And think of her

Soft, milky white skin

That you could sink your teeth in to

Her hips, wide

My hands glued to them

Her eyes locked on mine


I’m in between her thighs

She slowly slips it in


And he’s still scanning items

What an idiot


Eulogy for my Hamster

Wide-eyed and awake

Still, long haired he will remain

His eyes held the world

His heart as strong as ten men

It was beating too hard for his fragile cage

So he opened his bars and let loose

His chains that tied him to ageing

He floated far away

From a world that offered him

Nothing but pain

To a place where time loses meaning

And he could be truly free


But he forgot the ones he left behind

The hearts he touched in damaged minds

Thought he was young and not long ours

We will remember him

While we are still locked

Behind bars




Photography: The Ruins of Berry Pomeroy Castle

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It was a cloudy, rainy miserable day when me and my friend decided to go for a motorcycle journey. It had been years since I’ve been to this place. Whenever you mention the name Berry Pomeroy to a native in Torbay they’ll always tell you of ghosts that walk the ramparts. Lords and ladies that were murdered, Patrolling soldiers and everyday working men and women all spotted throughout the day and night by visitors and tourists.

I for one found the Ruins of Berry Pomeroy stunning, in an old gothic way. I attempted to catch the beauty of the castle itself and the nature surrounding it. There is a pathway leading to a moat nearby, bustling with nature. Bird calls that were completely unfamiliar to me sounding like car alarms.

I hope you’ve enjoyed these pictures.

If you’re interested in the history of Berry Pomeroy Castle check out this link from English Heritage:

If you’re more interested in ghost stories:

Peace of mind – Part 2

Thousands of faces

Hollering, whimpering, screaming, yelling

Passing through me and around me

Some confused, lost

Some angry

Some blank as if they’re



I scream with them

My own individual voice

Added to a harmony of pain

I move my own face

It seems I’ve lost my body


I try to look past the faces

To find a background


I just can’t get past



I feel red rage filling my cheeks

I charge through them

Eyes watering with anger


There is no background

Just endless, tormenting faces

Unavoidable eye contact


I slow and tire

My face becomes numb

I drift with the whirpool of faces

Not bothering to find a background

No one can look past their own face

Why doesn’t anyone help me

I am miserable


They open the window

And I’m back again



Peace of mind – Part 1


I sit here in a room

Well I think it’s a room

I’ve walked from side to side

From what I could feel:

Four walls

Four corners


It’s so dark in here

The only way I can see

Is during the day

When they open the window

Letting the sun shine through

When they shut it

I can’t tell whether my eyes are open or not

Am I sleeping or am I awake?

Standing or sitting?


The window is shut

I reach inside of myself

I search the lights of my soul

They’re dim

But brighter as I move closer

They line up along rails

On a pier

leading to the centre of the sea

I follow them


Reaching the end of the pier

I look down

There’s a long drop below

Into a whirpool

A vortex of black and white


I see others jumping from their piers

Sucked into the waters below

They seem to know what they’re doing

I jump


And follow



Conversing with Mr. Fly

I intiate a conversation with a passing fly

He lands on my computer desk

He begins cleaning himself

“Hey Mr. Fly, why do you buzz around?”

The fly looks me in the eyes

From all angles

Asessing me analytically

“Hi Mr. Human. Well, the buzzing sound is a result of me rapidly beating my two wings together.”

“That’s real interesting, Mr. Fly. But why? Why do you do it? What’s the reason? What’s the point?”

“I guess I just need to fly.”