creative writing


I’m weak. 

But aren’t we all?

Each one of us, battered and bruised, crushed beneath the weight of the world.

On our hands and knees, crawling through the fire. Willing ourselves to keep moving forward. To find our salvation.

But what if salvation is nothing but a myth? An old wives tale spread by lost souls hoping for a light in their darkest days.

What if this struggle never ends?

And all of us are just frozen in our own dystopia, sitting idle in this apocalypse as we prepare ourselves for oblivion.




creative writing, personal


My pockets were filled with stones as I trudged deeper and deeper.

Drowning in your touch, choking on your words.

Your blood ran warm but you could still be so cold.

You underestimated the monopoly you had over my mind. 

Over my well being.

Every argument felt like gunshots, piercing my flesh.

The silent treatment that followed was like salt in my wounds.

I kept coming back, like a moth to a flame.

I let you hurt me, derail me.

I allowed you to snuff out my light.

Now I have no way to see through this darkness.

I wonder aimlessly, lost in limbo.

I’m stuck reading between the lines, nothing makes sense anymore.

I touch fires and they are freezing, I’m unphased as my skin cracks and bubbles.

The air in my lungs is like smog, my chest feels heavier with each breath.

But I keep walking through the shadows.

Determined to find my light at the end of this tunnel.

After what feels like an endless road of “what if?”

I can finally see the sun peaking through.

I run towards it, towards my salvation, towards the end of this pain.

But as I get closer, I see you, blocking the exit.

I see you and I fall apart.

Everything comes crashing down around me.

I try to pick up the pieces and now my palms are stained red.

Sliced open as I hold fragments of my broken heart.

Fragments of my mental health.

Fragments of shattered hope in my hands.

I look up to find you staring at me.

My eyes are stinging, I can hardly see through these tears.

Once again, you see that you’ve upset me.

Once again, you say nothing.

And once again, you walk away.

I loved you.

You ruined me.

creative writing

Fantasy fiction, should I carry on?

I’ve really been questioning myself and my ability to write recently. Like, yeah fair enough I can string together a coherent blog. But my love is storytelling. And I really want to finish a story that people love. But I get half way through a piece of writing and then I fall out of love with it. And my thoughts are… if I’ve fallen out of love with the story, how is it possible for my audience to love it unconditionally?

I recently got a burst of inspiration to revamp a piece that I had started in college, in good old 2012. And I like it but I actually can’t tell if it’s shit or not as I doubt my work so often. Thoughts and criticisms VERY WELCOME.


A City Under Fire

I woke up sweating. The bottom of my pillow was stained with the damp silhouette of my neck and upper back. I sat up and released myself from the duvet, the sky was an orange colour as the sun started to rise. I felt like I’d been sleeping in a furnace. I decided a glass of water would cool me down and so I forced myself out of bed and to the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I passed, my face was flustered and glowing red, droplets forming on my brow. I pushed my hair back and swept the sweat from my face.

The mirror steamed up as I leant closer to inspect myself, my body temperature must be at an all-time high, I felt like i had magma running through my veins. I stood in my bathroom and switched on the tap, the burst of cold water on my skin made me jump, the juxtaposition from the warmth had caught me off guard.
I decided to grab a quick cold shower to try and regulate my temperature. There was no way I could sit through the morning meeting like this. I stepped under the Shower head. The cascade of freezing water caressed my skin, the sensation sent shivers down my spine. I began to wash as normal but as my temperature declined the glacial water became unbearable. It wasn’t long before I gave in and stepped out. I wrapped a towel around my waist and swept my hair back.

I dried off and grabbed some clothes from my drawers. The alarm on my phone sounded as I fastened my jeans. I grabbed the black hoodie from the back of my door and slipped that on. I put some socks on and shuffled over to my bedside table, to disable the alarm and grab my phone. I could smell breakfast being cooked, which was a rare occurrence for me. Normally, mum would have finished cooking and be pottering around in the greenhouse by the time I’d finally dragged myself out of bed. I’m a snooze button kind of guy, it’s a lifestyle i’ve embraced over the past few years. Not this week though, my sleeping pattern was a mess. Mainly due to the night terrors. I walked back into the bathroom to brush my teeth and to get the drink of water I hadn’t ended up making.

I filled the glass that was next to my sink and took a sip. My eyes looked heavy and tired. I closed them whilst I brushed my teeth, to let them rest. All I could think about was last night and every night prior to that. My dreams had been so vivid, like it was all real. I lifted the glass back up to my lips and took another sip. I lost grip and watched the glass smash beneath me as my lips began to sear with pain. The water was boiling hot, as if fresh off a stove. I ignored the shattered fragments covering my wash basin as I leant over to examine my blistered lips in the mirror.

I’d poured the water myself, it was fine when I took my first sip. What the Hell?. I had to get myself down to breakfast, Mum made it clear that she wanted me to attend morning meeting with her. I glazed the burn with Vaseline and made my way out of my bedroom.

Maybe I switched on the hot tap and I was too tired to notice? I couldn’t dwell on it. I shoved my books and my wallet into my bag and made my way to the kitchen.

I walked in to find my mum and aunt Cordelia with their heads stuck in one of my gran’s old books. I hadn’t been in the room 5 minutes before they pointed out that I look like crap, I just shrugged and threw myself down onto a seat at the table.
“Lex what’s wrong with your lip?” My mum asked as she passed me a plate.

“I think I must have bitten it in my sleep”.

What was I supposed to say? There was no rational explanation.

“You were awake early, was it the dreams again?”

My mum always knows exactly what’s wrong with me, I swear she’s clairvoyant. I nodded as I chewed a piece of toast.

“What was it this time? Forrest fire, Phoenix rising from the ashes?” Cordelia asked, she seemed curious, like she was genuinely interested.

“A new one,” I answered quickly “this time it was the fires of Pompeii. I was a villager running from the lava”.

“Disturbing.” my Mum said as she passed me a cup of tea.
She seemed annoyed after I’d spoken, but not with me surely. I mean, she can’t be mad at me for having a bad dream. I cant control them.

“Don’t you find it strange?” Cordelia asked.

“Find what strange?”

“That all of your nightmares include some sort of fire or high temperatures.”

I’d never thought about my dreams as a collective before but Cordelia was right, they were all so similar. And each dream had made my body heat soar.
I kept trying to come up with a rational explanation for the night terrors whilst we drove to the morning meeting. But to no avail.

There was a road closure on the way to the Castra, so we had to drive down by the town lines. It was the closest I’d been to the threshold of Morvium in years. The veil covered the other side in what looked like fog. Only those with chosen by the Coryphaeus were allowed to pass freely through the veil. We all tried as kids, but the veil just pushed us back. It wasn’t gentle either, I almost broke my arm.

According to my mum, it wasn’t always like this. When she was my age, our covens roamed freely across the earth. Living amongst the mundane. It wasn’t until a change of leadership in that world caused a shift in attitudes towards witches and we were forced back into hiding. In their world, under the new Illicitus law, the use of witchcraft is now punishable by death. There was an uprising, in which one of the five covens of the sun fought back against the Illicitus movement. But the mundane outnumbered them. Their technology and resources overpowered the covens magic. They all perished. Now the remaining four covens live here. Under the veil, away from the mundanes reach, in Morvium. ‘Like hamsters in a cage’ my Gran used to say.

Please give me your thoughts, I have 3 books worth of notes saved on my phone because I don’t sleep at night and instead allow myself to delve into this world and visualise my ideas coming to life. I just never do very well with writing them down in an interesting way.




Perfect Illusions, Lady Gaga was woke.

The rise of the millennials has seen social media thrive. Giving each individual a platform to freely express themselves. Like me, right now, blogging. Social media holds our society with a firm grasp, some would say, almost too firm. Suffocating.

There isn’t a person I know between the ages of 13 and 31 that hasn’t had their outlook on life or outlook on themselves moulded by that of the media and it’s ‘social norms’.

Everybody is all too familiar with Face tune and filters. Myself included. We portray exaggerated and polished versions of ourselves online because we’ve been told that our unfiltered selves are not worth as much recognition. And that’s what this generation thrives off of. Recognition, adoration, followers, likes. It’s an endless cycle.

I often look through social media and see these synthetic apparitions of happiness, posted by people I know. When in reality, what you see, isn’t always the truth. Hence my title.

Lady Gaga hit the nail on the head when she sang about a perfect illusion. We convey our lives to the world, not in a truthful way, but in a way that people will find aesthetically pleasing. We can’t even go out with friends for a drink without arranging our cocktails for an Instagram picture. We can’t go to a music concert without documenting the whole thing on our smart phones.

I went in December to see The 1975 in Manchester (Iconic, ethereal experience). During the concert Matty Healy, before the band performed their song “Me”, spoke of wanting to cherish the concert. And how he wanted everybody to be present in the room and see the performance with their eyes and not through a lens. I didn’t have a phone at the time so I had no choice but to do so. I must admit that there is no substitute for being there and looking at the artist as they perform, knowing you’re breathing the same air and are living the same moment. But the speech made me think about other concerts i’ve been to. I went to see my absolute QUEEN, Adele, in march. And I watched almost the whole concert through the lens of my digital camera. Yes, I have some amazing footage of a life changing night. But I now wish that I’d have experienced the night as it happened, not in retrospect, through playbacks.

Anyway, back on track.

Perfect Illusions can crop up EVERYWHERE in day to day life. I just had one of my perfect illusions shattered last week. Somebody who I adored and spoke so highly of, someone who I was willing to give my time and affection to, turned out to be the complete opposite of who I thought they were. I had literally used the words “In love” to describe my feeling towards them, I quickly replaced those words with “In lust”. And now in my final edit, I’ve substituted the phrase “In lust” for “repulsed.”

I’ve seen the cracks start to form in some of my friends portrayals of their perfect lives lately too. Scratching just beneath the surface has uprooted many a problem or cause of unhappiness, that had been so cleverly concealed through their eclectic posts on social media. The definition of Perfect Illusions.

2017 is the year of Lady Gaga.

Joanne is still Lit. The Super Bowl is going to be iconic. And she may not top the Bad Romance music video this year, but GAGA IS WOKE.


You can ignore my not so subtle Gaga fan boy plea’s, but there is still a message to be received in this post.

You are enough, know your worth, be your authentic self, live your truth.

Pineapple can go on pizza if it wants to, don’t put it in a box because of your social norms.




Loving Someone.


Noun – A strong feeling of affection.

Synonyms – Deep affection, warmth, fondness, endearment.

Love, of any kind is something not to be taken for granted. It will come when you least expect it, when you aren’t even looking for it and hit you in the face like a brick.

In October 2015, I was a mess. I was nervous, I felt pressured to find a job and get myself out of the house. And that’s what I did. I blagged my way through the interview process and got myself a job. Absolute tekkers passing that stage considering I was a bashful wreck in real life. I had a training day about four days after my interview and I remember standing in Spinningfields, feeling shook because I didn’t know anybody who was going to be there. I could see a big group of people waiting for the training to start, and something so social and face to face was a big no no for me at the time. I bit the bullet and forced myself through the door. I avoided eye contact with the other new staff members and said about four words all day. There were a few people who intimidated me during the training. And anybody who knows me now will not believe me. But I wasn’t myself at this point. Anyway, we were signing out and I literally let everybody cut in front of me because i didn’t want to get in anybodies way. There were like six of us left and I had supposed to be one of the first people to sign out. I was so sure I’d be the last to leave, until I saw the girl who had just signed flourish the sheet in front of my face. This girl who I’d never met before had seen that I’d been waiting and took it upon herself to make sure I that I was next.

About a week later, I had my first shift and I barely made it through. I got everything wrong and spent every second thinking I was going to get sacked. The old staff were like sharks circling their pray when it came to us new staff. I was so drained after the shift that I had to sit myself down on the wall outside and let myself breathe and wind down. I was looking dead pan at the ground but I could see somebody in my peripheral sit down next to me on the wall. I sat up and looked to see who it was. It was the girl from induction who gave me the sign out sheet. I didn’t know her name, so I was going to just look back at the floor but she looked upset. I asked how her shift was, assuming it was her first too. We talked and ranted about how stressed and scared we were. I remember her reenacting something from her shift and it was the first time for ages that I’d laughed so much that I had to cover my face with my hand, to cover my ugly cackle. I waited with her until her parents picked her up and she said she was going to hand in her notice. Thank god she didn’t.

We weren’t put on the same position in the first few weeks after so I didn’t really see her. It was only on our first staff outing to Revolution that I learned her name. Georgia. At this point she didn’t drink, but she didn’t need to. Georgia was LIT. And that was the night that I opened an account at the bank of GG. She lent me a fiver to get home and thats when I knew she was a keeper.

Fast forward a month and everything was different for me.

I looked forward to going into work. Me, Georgia and some others from work would go to The Grapes or to The Paramount for a drink. I wasn’t nervous, I wasn’t a wreck. I was Jack again.

Georgia had become my best work colleague, we would sometimes meet before work and would always give each other the run down and gossip after our shifts. We’d sit on that same wall that we did after our first shift and chat absolutely heinous, broken biscuits to each other. We started to go for brunch and out for tea. We had a constant string of text messages and phone calls. Our conversations would span from full heartfelt DMC to absolute profanity and iconic throwback phrases and references. We became a part of a friendship group and evolved into social butterflies.

I remember Georgia telling me that when we spoke after our first shift, she thought that I was too shy and that she felt like she needed to take me under her wing. She also said that she wasn’t expecting me and my personality to be what it is (completely insane, painstakingly sarcastic and so extra). She was shook. She was Shooka Khan.

We became known as quite the double act in work, mainly because we did everything together. It got to a point where if we arrived at a party separately instead of together, we got questioned about what had happened and why we were fighting. When in reality I had decided to have a nap before going to the party. Then we found our angel Lauren Cordy and Sass Queens Brunch club was born. Name a more iconic trio, I’ll wait.

I have had so many amazing memories and stories to tell since meeting Georgia. Pitta, Beecham Bar when we were crying and I couldn’t breathe, laughing so loud whilst on shift with each other and realising that was why we were never paired up, Glassesgate at Hula! I’m actually cackling thinking about them.

And now I’m going to stop writing in blog format and speak directly to the rat bag herself.

Georgia Gagan,

Nobody has done more for me in the last year than you have. You skull dragged me out of my shell and allowed this sarcastic, foul mouthed monster to be reborn. You were always at reaching distance if I needed anything, always game to go out to lunch (Big factor of our friendship) and always supportive of me. I know more than anybody how difficult I can be at the best of times, but you stuck it out like a trooper. Kudos. You are undoubtably the most genuine person I have ever met. A work colleague, a partner in crime, a best friend. A guardian angel. I was truly blessed when that random girl handed me the sign out sheet. Sometimes when I think about you I just want to smash your face in because I can’t express how important you are and so I’d rather just have a scrap. I do not feel worthy of your friendship. I know that friendships have been a big part of your journey, some bad experiences have left you wary and the fact that even after everything in your past, you allowed yourself to form a friendship with me. To give so much of yourself and share your past experiences, your daily struggles (AND THE 1975) with me is so important. I know others have taken you for granted and I am always petrified that you think that I do too. I don’t want you to ever think that I am capable of leaving you and this friendship behind. If we were in the Wizarding world, I’d make the unbreakable vow to you. To the end of the earth, to hell and back. Ride or die.

Georgia Gagan you have my heart.

I have seen you overcome so much and even when you swore that you didn’t think it could get better, you still kept climbing. I have seen you burst into flames and rise from the ashes like a beautiful, blorange Phoenix. And now you’re leaving to start this new chapter of your life and I’m so sad that we won’t share a city anymore. I’m also so excited for you and whats next to come! Grab London by the tits, tickle it’s areola and don’t you dare forget about me now that you’re Miss Metropolitan. Trust and believe that the Virgin Pendolino is gonna be my new uber to come and inject a much needed dose of 0161 into your life.

“How lucky am I, to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” – Winnie the pooh.

This isn’t goodbye forever, just TTFN!

Georgie Googan may have passed on to the afterlife but Georgia Marie Gagan still reigns and she’s ready to slay bitch.

Memoirs of a Gagan is now gonna be my new bible so please don’t lose the blogging bug.

I gave you the dramatic good bye today when I chased you through town in the rain because our first goodbye wasn’t good enough. And I managed to save my tears until a 1975 song came on shuffle on the bus home. Bet I looked like a dickhead, sobbing on the number 8, trying to blend it.

“She’s got two-tone everything, way too intelligent
Moving but she just can’t move.” – She Way Out, The 1975.

Except you ARE moving, you’re finally following your dream and hopefully I’ll be heading down south soon myself to continue mine. But until then I’m just going to hope that distance makes the heart grow fonder.

“Before you go, please turn the big light off.” – I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it, The 1975.

I love you.


Gossip Girl.



creative writing

Prisoner Of Desire.

I ran my fingers through her copper hair, I was compelled by her Ivory skin.

She had monopoly over my mind, my body and my sin.

Her soul was dark, her lips tasted like Cava.

She demanded I tear off her dress, her Balenciaga.

We fucked to the soundtrack  of her favourite vinyls.

It was aggressive. 




I lost myself in the darkness.

I was bound by her spell.

With no control of my actions, I became unstable, unwell.

I couldn’t escape, no matter how hard I tried.

She could bend wills with her tongue, move things with her mind.

She’d slice my palm and drink my blood.

She’d charge me up so the sex was good.

Her ritual lost its power when the moon eclipsed.

I was no longer bewildered, bothered, bewitched.

For three years she kept me, her prisoner of desire.

Today that witch got what she deserved.

Three words.

Death by fire.

creative writing

An open letter to my favourite heartbreaker.

I wrote this tragic little poem in a text that I was going to send you. This was about a month after things between us went sour. In the end I thought it would be more heartfelt if I said these words instead of you just reading them. And I tried to say these things to you, but you never picked up. After giving you four missed calls, I decided to leave you alone.

I wish I could ask you if what we had was real,
I wish I could tell you that with you I felt safe.
I wish you knew I got the raw end of the deal,
I wish I could tell you that I’m missing your face.
I wish I could admit to you that I was wrong,
I wish I could tell you that you’re the reason I cry.
I wish I could tell you that I can’t stay strong,
I wish I could tell you that I’d rather die.
I wish you knew that I haven’t been well.

I wish you could see that I’m broken. I hope you know that you’ve put me through hell.

I wish I could tell you the things I left unspoken,

I wish I could tell you…

But you wouldn’t answer my calls.


I bet you’re all sick of my side of these stories!

Sorry not sorry,