New Flames 

Crash and burn all the same, and yet they hurt more.

That –  



Burn you to your CORE 

Intensity – 

Means nothing when you realize 

You started the fire yourself. 

Short Stories

Club Nights

Numbing lights flickered the rainbow across the blackened room.

The air was heavy and hot with body odor and bad breath.

Swaying bodies from side to side – jumping, leaping, some even crawling. The floor was sticky and slick, cups cracked and rolling, spilt drinks leaving smeared trails and tossed lemon slices. A swarm of multi-coloured bees in a hive, fleeting around in circles and squeezing together in a sweaty attempt to get closer to, or away from, each other.

Ears ringing and voices drowned out by the bass, lyrics butchered over blown speakers, arms flailing wildly in the air without a semblance of rhythm. Fingers clutching the cold glass in hand.

Blue eyes in a mass of trading vibrancies, square jaw and broad shoulders. Uniform like armor: grey and plain and protective. Overconfident, Omnipotent gaze, eyes like seeking lasers buzzing over bared skin.

Hitched breath as his smile makes its way across the bar.

Like his eyes, piercing and compelling: he held a smile that was perfectly lopsided and striking.

Glass brought to trembling lips, sprite and watered vodka crisp as it plunged down against the back of her throat.

He did not move from the back, thick arms crossed. He was a toxin more potent than drink. She slammed the cup down so that the ice cubes clinked – silently beneath the layer of pulsating music.

Across the gooey dance floor she swept and watched with a fluttering heart as that temping, intoxicating smile carved itself into a delicious smirk.