Category Archives: spy tales

saturday baking: #drunk

Things that are terrible to discover post- drunk saturday baking when you are sleepy and ready to embrace the red wine hazy slumber:

1. You washed your bedding today. You didn’t remake the bed.

2. You start to take off your favourite baking hoodie only to find the zip is gradually undoing itself FROM THE BOTTOM.

3. Go to the bathroom. Look at your face. THE HORROR.

4. Cats are so cute. Especially when they are sleeping.

5. We are in a long distance relationship. Only the distance is inter-universe. You know us: go hard or go home.

6. I see guys at the gym look at me, double-take and then realise that I’ve cut my hair. Some look disappointed, give me a sympathetic look and never talk to me again. Others tell me I look great – they are usually the married ones. Well done, ladies. Men are fucktards.

7. I see women at the gym look at me, double-take and then realise that I’ve cut my hair. Some look nervous, quickly look away and try never to catch my eye in the mirror. Others tell me my body looks great and that I must work hard. Women are fucktards.

someone wake me when this world is over.


2018: 09

he didn’t jump;
but i wished to slip
my hand in his;
after all,
you were only fishing.

2018: 08

does it make me
an arsehole;
for those living terminally?
only i would rather death,
if it was an option.

2018: 01

the scent of familiarity;
the willpower to remain alone;
watch and learn;
read and weep;
cut and drive;
dig and bleed.

keep going.


do you know
what it’s like
to be left;
in the blue.

i hear the words,
i read your stories;
but every time
the same result:
you leave and i wait.

it’s not your fault.

i have felt
the warmth of your love:
immense and like no other.
no one has ever known me
and loved me like you.

i can’t see the page
that ends with you and i.
but i promise to leave
my love at the end
of every road for you.

i wish i could
give you everything
you’ve ever given me.
[i know it’s not enough]
not until time travel allows.

while i wait
for this one to end.
maybe we’ll find our time
in the next life.


it is the intense loneliness
that follows the act;
no closer to an actress,
to a performer, to a clown;
but an act all the same.

hear me, look at me, love me;
love me the hardest,
love me the longest,
love me the most,
just please don’t leave me.


makes me feel
not quite so alone.

magnitude of rejection.

it was a stark realisation –
no magnitude of rejection
could outweigh –
not her body,
not her face,
not her laughter,
or intellect,
or humour,
or interests,
or skills;
in fact,
it was her love
they didn’t want.

it was too much,
it wasn’t enough,
it was too late,
it wasn’t the right time.

in fact, they didn’t want
to be loved by her.

i n k.

i am giddy
with the thought:
pierce my skin,
release the ink –
again, again, again.

this addictive pain:
let them see it
saturate my bloody
and scar my skin –
again, again, again.

i am giddy
with the thought:
a secret life,
of torture and release and secrets –
again, again, again.

the spy lives on.

[o n e d a y] (ii).

in those days
you made me feel
so safe
and i let you
keep me warm.

these days
i beg the universe
to [one day]
allow me
to repay the favour.

[one day]
i’ll get the chance
to show you
i love you –
so much
my heart bleeds.