Published Work

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition 2019

Magical Tragedies

I sit here on the edge of my bed, tear stains prominent against the bright colours of my sheets and tissue spread out in every direction like some bastardization of a halo.
              I feel the erratic pulse in my thumb as I press it against the cold glass of my phone, directly on the backspace key and I watch in morbid fascination as the words erase from my screen.
              I watch as my whole heart translated into ones and zeros vanishes like some sick magic trick. The rapid tick tick tick sound that bleeds through my phone will be the eulogy or the praise song and the backspace key will be the shovel, and the dirt, and the coffin, and the coroner, and the mourner. The only other mourner beside me.
               It seems all too easy if only I could erase the memories too. If only I could recite some spell and forget how beautiful you looked when you were...