Hell is not an afterlife,
Hell is a reality.
I’ve walked through its doorway
Of masked duplicity.

I know what it wants,
I’ve seen its hunger and its greed,
For all the souls it has,
These aren’t its ruler’s need.

A soul is not enough.
It still wants to take.
A never-ending appetite,
It feeds on your ache.

Say goodbye to happiness.
So long dear sanity.
Farewell to kindness.
Welcome dishonesty.

Burning all emotion,
Cremating empathy,
Incinerating love,
Bringing apathy.

Charred by its fire,
Strangely feeling cold.
A dark, dank emptiness;
Quickly takes hold.

No more sounds of laughter.
No light through the dark.
Desolation, despair and sorrow.
The world is horribly stark.

To exit through the door,
To leave this world behind,
I died every day,
I had to lose my mind.

Resurrection is a blessing.
I feel safe, alive and wise.
My soul is dead and buried.
A new one forced to rise.

I don’t know who I am.
Can’t say who I will be.
It doesn’t really matter
I finally feel like… me.


It’s All About Me

We’ve all got things that make us individual. By that I don’t mean our genetic make-up or physical appearance. I’m talking about the unique traits and characteristics that make us the quirky and interesting people that we really are.

In my case, I have several stand-out features… I’m deaf in one ear. This is by far the greatest physical gift that God could have given me. Think about it… I get a peaceful, silent night’s kip by sleeping on my good ear… when I’m in the club, cornered by a boring geezer who wants to chat rubbish in my ear – I can let him! I put him on my bad side and strategically nod now and again, hoping that I’m not agreeing to anything obscene. From habit, I lip read so I always look at people’s mouths when they talk rather than into their eyes. When there’s a buff bloke in my face, I don’t even need to chat him up. He instinctively assumes that my lip reading is actually body language for ‘I want you’ and does all the work. Sweet!

Then there’s my one-handed typing. People have tried to stamp out this trait by sending me on various typing courses. Still, I refuse to conform. Why waste two hands on a keyboard when you can type with one and hold your mug of tea in the other? Aren’t we supposed to be the ‘multi-tasking’ generation? And I can type over 70 words per minute so it’s not like I’m typing like a tortoise… It’s a gift I tell you!

And then there’s my relationship with shoes. I need new shoes. Every week. I can’t survive without them. My little feet need to feel the comfort of soft new leather, the pressure of a slim sexy heel, the comfort of a hand-stitched sole… There are shoes out there that call my name as I walk by them in the store. They say ‘Nix, take me home.’ And I do. Quite often, I buy two pairs of the same shoe – one to wear and one to keep, like a piece of rare and beautiful art. If only men were as good looking…

I am truly unique. And I love it.