GGFL | Note to my older self.

Good girls finish last and that’s something I’ve learnt, 

Cause men think they deserve a good girl even when the tables don’t turn, 

They say you “reap what you sow”, 

but in the end you get burnt, 

I’ve seen it enough times to believe it, 

So fuck what you’ve heard, 

A new guy, a new chapter and you think it will be “different” 

Your friends tell you to be careful but you don’t care to listen, 

Cause you swear that this is the one, he’s got “your best interest at heart”,

Until he’s bored and your now just another thing of his past, 

Like all his previous links and 

All the other “hoes”

Who too, 

Swore he was different but that’s just how it goes, 

But you really thought it was going somewhere so you “just went with the flow”, 

And now your left out in the cold. 

Because the river’s run dry, 

And now your at a loss, 

Cause he turned out to be what he swore he was not,

And all your energy’s drained, yeah you invested the lot, 

In something that was going nowhere fast, to someone who didn’t care about the cost,

Of building a good girl up, then tearing her right back down, 

Now she’s left to pick up the shattered pieces of her pride off of the ground, 

And now she cries at night, trying to figure it all out, 

What had she done wrong, she just can’t seem to understand,

And now she’s sitting there wishing that she never lost sight of her vision, 

Putting someone before herself who was just in search of something they thought they were missing, 

Never mind all the kissing, 

Never mind all the touching,

Because all men lie except when they lie under the covers, 

He can’t keep his hands off me“, yeah that’s the only thing he was loving,

He was only head over heels when he was getting top or when he was fucking, 

Mind you, he loved your ways at least a little bit, 

How you let him fuck you over and get away with it,

How you gave it all up, and how you never held back, 

How you let him in and now you can’t take any of that back,

How you gave him your all and now your sitting there mad, 

Because you was “a fool to love, and he just upped his rank. 

They say men go hard for what they want, 

You was clearly not that,

“Confession is good for the soul” but honesty is something men lack,

And now you don’t trust guys cause of this one you lost,

They say “follow your heart“, not your mind, but it’s the mind that leads the blind, now your hearts covered in frost,

You’ll meet someone else and think all men are full of shit,

Because of one guy and his fear to commit. 

Some word of advice, never put another man first,

Because when it’s all said and done they are only out to quench their thirst.




Neither you nor I, is a stranger to the everlasting, heart tugging feel of betrayal. 

When you trusted that a feeling you have become accustomed to, is no longer a real perception of how you should feel. You feel the depths of hurt.

A never ending sink hole of despair.

That bitter sweet feeling of I can’t believe you did this, 

but you got me, 

yet I should of known better, 

weighs heavy on the anatomy of the heart that I, 


so willingly gave to you. 

One day I’m your favourite, on other days I’m a chore. 

You played with your intentions, 

each time leaving me to fill the pieces of a puzzle,

where the segments missing, 

I would never actually hold.
These were the pieces that you held back from me at your own expense.

And then when I was in too deep to figure it out, 

you just left.
I recall it, sort of like,

You pouring sand into the gaps of my hands, 

In which you would then sit and watch me, 

struggle to grasp every single grain,

That slid away,

From me.
Call me a fool. 

I deserve it, 

for I lacked the basic ability, 

like many, 

to protect myself. 

Instead I looked to you for protection, 

For security,

For love.

But it was me who failed myself,


To shield myself from the tantalising aches of my conscious, 

that stopped me from overcoming this betrayal that still attaches me to you, 
You! oblivious to the damage you have caused, the hurt you have so selfishly inflicted, 

leaves me wondering whether any of this, 

any of it, 

Was real. 
Or was it just a figment of my imagination. 

Had I perhaps established a trust in you that wasn’t reciprocal? 
I cogitate, 


but I knew one day this feeling would end. 
This feeling of betrayal, 

could only escape me once I released the burden of your guilt from my shoulders. 
I conquered. 

A sense of liberationknowing that, 

the thought of you will no longer cause me pain. 

Will no longer bring me rainy days, 

now I, 

single handily will embark on my journey to self determined happiness,

Although gutted, 

happily without you. 
One day I got up and decided to set myself free, 

Unbuckled the chains that anchored you to me, 

The toughest but most optimal decision yet!

from this very day onwards, 

I pledge to never let betrayal get the best of me. 

Revenge: XI


 “It’s a boy”

His skin was as pale as the white snow that blessed the ground upon his arrival, lips as blue as the night sky, his hair slicked by the fluids of my body that protected him. My child, my son! had come to rescue his mother, to bless her with nothing but sincere happiness. The joy I felt wasn’t one I could contain, even the excruciating pain that I felt take over me, the shocking electrifying currents that ran from my pelvis to my back couldn’t compare or even come close to the joy I felt in the pit of my stomach, or to the love I could feel that flowed through my blood to every vein in my heart. This was a feeling I knew I had needed to feel, a feeling that would last an eternity, a feeling that made me strong enough to live to tell this story, the feeling that made an honest woman of me, I was finally married to motherhood. 
I remember staring at him for ages, analysing every single detail about him, from the way his chest inflated as he took each breath that I so lovingly gave to him, to the way his tiny fingers clutched the hope that he gave to me from the very beginning. I needed nobody else at this moment, just me and my son. I watched as the nurses checked him over, I couldn’t bare to turn a cheek just incase, knowing my luck something went wrong, but he was healthy, a healthy handsome little boy. 

Tears rolled down my cheeks, each tear for the heartache that was now eased, and each drop for the years to come in here, but I made a promise to him that, nothing would stop me from being a good mother, not even these four walls. 


I had lost my home, my job, my “husband”, my life, my freedom and yet that wasn’t good enough for the world. Almost a year later after being convicted and I still had some sort of spotlight in the media. I wish they had left me alone, I wish they hadn’t tarnished my name anymore than they had already done, I really wish they had just let me do my time in peace. What could I do? Nothing, so I just turned a blind eye to it all and got on with building a bond with my child. 

Elijah Micael Davis was what I decided to name him. No trace of a father figure in his name needed, just the legacy of his mother, after all I wasn’t really married to that man in the eyes of the law. Trevor definitely wasn’t his biological father, Elijah didn’t resemble him one bit, at this point I thought if there was a God in the very sky that shadowed over us, that he definitely heard and responded to my prayers. Before the birth I was petrified, terrified even that my first and perhaps only child would be a constant reminder to me of the scum that laid beneath the soil of the earth, and that some part of me would despise them for being so, but he wasn’t, I knew very well he wasn’t just by his presence, this child had a glow so pure that Trevor’s dirty little semen couldn’t provide. 

I was content knowing that the guy who gave me this child despite being a one night stand was more than half decent in appearance and even more satisfied knowing that I didn’t spend ten years of my life fighting for him to give me a purpose, instead a mistake let this happen. I knew shit all about him, but this didn’t phase me because the man who I thought I knew, I didn’t know either, this was the best way, I couldn’t imagine feeling any more happier with the outcome than now.
The time had come to say our goodbyes. I knew this day would come and I chose deliberately to ignore it but it always resided in the back of my mind. My heart sank deep within my chest, the sort of feeling when your body knows things are going to get bad, when it knows that something is going to disturb your inner peace. I cried a million tears but still it wasn’t enough to express how hurt I was to let Elijah go. I kept telling myself that, somehow soon I’ll be next to him, and that I will never not be here for him. Words couldn’t ever explain how much love I had for my child and because of this love I found the strength deep within me to wipe away my tears, say my goodbyes and move on. 

I relived every sleepless night, every cry, every laugh, every move, every smile that he made and I would relive this moment everyday in my head if I needed to feel better. I use to sit on my bed and play with his toys and imagine him playing with me, responding to me, his mother, and although he wasn’t here nothing would ever change that. 

“Autumn wasn’t here to stay and Spring just skipped by, yet Summer went for a lovely stroll, while the glacial deposits of winter followed.”

“Mrs Davis, you have a visit”

A visit. Again with the unexpected visits from whom I had no idea to be sitting at that table when I entered the room. My heart pounded as I walked along the corridor to the visiting area. My mind wondered tremendously far between each step, I had no siblings, no parents, no friends, who could possibly be coming to visit me? Maybe it was Elijah’s dad? Maybe he saw what was in the news, maybe he wanted some answers. This was a stress I really didn’t need at that moment, I was beginning to miss my son a whole lot, the last thing I needed was the other half of him to remind me of my loss. 

I finally got to the visiting area, I quickly scanned the room but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I thought to myself, was this just a sick joke? I had been here for two years and a half and not one visit, it was hard not to conclude that this was a silly joke. Had one of the guards pulled off a “laugh” at my expense? I could feel my blood boil until the prison officer gestured to me to take a seat at a table where a young woman sat. 

As I got closer to her, there it was. All the answers I needed. I could see the guilt written all over her face. She was the spitting image of him, so much so I almost vomited. It was Trevor’s daughter. The one bred of the late wife that “disappeared” off the face of the earth. I could feel panic coming over me all over again, I tried so hard to run away from this feeling, but anxiety wasn’t my best friend at all. As I sat down, she told me sternly, “we have an hour please do not speak until I have finished” and so I did as she requested. I remember her describing in depth how she constructed her revenge and how much she hated him and how much he hurt her and her mother and when she described in detail what she had done to him for the justice of her mother, my heart broke. I felt her pain, the intensity of the feelings she now felt and perhaps all the hatred and hurt she held for all these years, I could feel it even if she decided not to say another word. If I could hold her I would of, because I knew exactly where she was right now and exactly how she felt. 

“He made her feel worthless, he broke her heart into segments of meaningless words, self hate, depression and worst of all a place where on many occasions she considered suicide. He drove her to a place where she couldn’t fathom her own mind, and then he took from me the one thing I loved the most. I know this because my mother was a writer, she use to read to me all the time when she was happy and then the moment he started to beat her and punish her for his wrong doings, she stopped. She stopped and instead she started to write, I remember she use to write in a fluorescent pink book, covered in flowers and butterflies. I always use to ask her to read it to me but she never, she always said “it’s for adults darling”.

Before he sent me away I saw this book in one of her drawers and so took it with me in memory of her. When I was old enough I read it, my heart broke as I read each page of nothing but pure heartache and truth written on paper from a woman who wanted to do nothing but love and please her husband. He threw it in her face constantly and then he took her away from me and without a single moment of punishment, left her to rot, without a body he couldn’t be convicted…”

She started dragging her nails across the splints of the table, I could absorb the frustration, the anger, the hurt that formed between her, the air and I and then her head fell in her hands, I let her breath for a second, remembering she asked me not to speak until she finished, I said nothing, then she came up for a gasp of air and proceeded..

“I remember walking in the bathroom and seeing him hold her head under the water. She was fighting and he didn’t let go, he didn’t stop, I started screaming but by then she was long gone, her soul afloat. He turned to me and told me to close the door, and so I did, that was the last I saw of my mother, a few days later he sent me to Colombia to live with my grandparents. I didn’t dare to tell them what I had witnessed because even at ten years old I knew of evil in the world and knew that in order for him to feel how I felt I would have to deal with him myself. So knowing what he had done, I took matters into my own hands and when I became strong enough reaped the seeds he sowed.”

I admired her from across the table, everything that mattered to me, every feeling of resentment, every piece of pain that I felt that I once suffered from disappeared. She was strong and a lot stronger than I, no fear, no remorse, not even I could of dealt with him in that manner. I knew now that I couldn’t ever compare emotionally to the hurt this young woman was feeling. She told me she had nobody, she had nothing to loose and that she knew when the day came she would enjoy it because for years she had to relive the moment he selfishly took an innocent, loving, woman from her.

“visiting times up, all prisoners are to head back to their cells”

Without a word I got up and left, I knew in my heart that even if I served life for a crime I didn’t commit that I couldn’t feel half as hopeless as she did right now. I remember sitting in my cell lost, for once my mind came to a halt and I just sat in complete silence thinking of absolutely nothing. I decided it was best after feeling so exhausted to take a nap. 

Days passed by and I decided to stop dragging my feet along the ground and make a better living for myself while I was here. For once in my life I went to the gym and it felt so good that I made it into a habit, part of my daily routine. I then did some course on hair dressing so I could work in the Salon to make money for my food and toiletries. I even made friends on the ward, I thought maybe this won’t be so bad I mean I could be homeless or dead so I guess prison is a start. I was just getting settled, until a later was slid under the door of my cell. 
Who the hell can be sending me letters, I immediately thought it was Michael at least. I opened it, I remember word for word what it said:

“Dear Carmen, 

You are a strong woman. You have put up with a lot over the years and being able to put up with that man without killing him yourself shows how strong you are. I came to visit you because I had no idea you would be punished for my actions, I read the newspapers and what they are saying about you, and your son! Congratulations. I know it’s a year too late but I had no idea. You don’t deserve this at all, and as I am a woman of pride consider this a thank you for even being close to understanding the pain that I felt. I will be turning myself in to the police station, I will hold my hands high in praise and confess to the murder, I have come to set you free.



I rubbed my eyes multiple times, I couldn’t believe what I was reading, my heart, in fact my entire body leaped for joy, I was finally going to be set free, I was finally going be reunited with my son, finally two and a half years of prayers had been answered. I cannot even describe in words the revelation I felt that very day I stepped foot outside that prison. I was going to get my son, I was going to get my life back. 

– a year later.

It was his second birthday, and as we wasn’t able to celebrate his first we held a birthday to remember. Me and Michael took him to Disney land with his family to celebrate. I couldn’t believe for a second that this is how things had turned out, from a nightmare to a fairytale, I was truly blessed. Me and Michael became an item after he discovered that I had his child, we decided to start anew, begin a whole new book and write our first chapter of many to follow. 

After Cataliya confessed, and was sentenced I made a vow to her, despite not knowing her from Adam, and despite her getting me wrongful imprisoned I felt like I owed her and most importantly I felt like I had taken on the duty to have two kids instead of one. From that point onwards I kept in contact with her, I sent her letters, cards on her birthday, I made sure she had essentials and me, Michael and Elijah went to visit as often as we could. I couldn’t help but think this was all karma for the pain and agony I previously caused to the men that broke my heart, I now understood that sometimes the best revenge is to move on. Call it an epiphany if you please, a very long winded one. Despite the turbulence once present in my life I couldn’t be anymore grateful for the man that I ended up and the path that I walked in the end. I hoped that this happiness I felt, would last forever, but life always has it’s ways of attending to the wicked when realisation is far too late.

“Sometimes revenge doesn’t always set you free”

Revenge: VIII

It was five in the evening of a quiet relaxed Sunday, this was what I needed, some normality, a break from all the manic stuff that surround my husbands death, his mistress, his mystery persona even. I remember just staring at the TV and for once in a long time listening to every single word that was being said. I hadn’t done this in a long while and since worked signed me off for two weeks for the “tragic” death of the devil, “our condolences”. I decided to make use of it and indulge in some me time. That was quickly interrupted when I heard a very stern knock on the door. For fuck sake I thought, first unexpected phone calls now unexpected visits, again when I wasn’t really in the mood to see the likes of any other human being apart from my damn self and worst off when I didn’t know who to expect to be behind those birchwood doors. So I crept along the hallway, tip toe by tip toe until I reached the front of the house, I peeped from the frosted glass that stood at each side of the frontdoor that there were flashing blue lights. The police. Shit!

My heart sank, I could feel my face screw into all of the letters that spelt panic. I felt my heart, better yet my soul in my mouth, I almost puked for old time sake but I knew I needed to hold it together. I took a deep breath and although I knew exactly what was coming I opened the door with a poker face. “Mrs Lawson?”, “Yes, Mrs Lawson”, “we are arresting you for the murder of Trevor Lawson,  you have the right to remain silent, anything you say will be later relied on in court” I felt like every single bone in my body dissolved, I fell to the floor, mouth ajar staring at their feet. I remember constantly repeating “I didn’t do it” at least a hundred times from when they handcuffed me on the floor to the back of the police car, all the way to the police station. There wasn’t even someone to see me off, to vouch for my innocence, to save me! 

I felt like I had cried enough tears but I was wrong, maybe this was karma for the black magic I performed on him? Maybe I did it wrong? Maybe he planned all of this? A million maybe’s suffocated my thoughts, I should of killed myself when I had the urge to because prison pretty much resembled hell and this life that I would continue to live in a prison meant I would be better off dead. No family, no friends, just memories and twenty five to life in a prison cell. 

As I suspected they concluded that I killed my husband over a row of my infidelities. MINE! How could it be that a man could rip apart my heart with his very hands, vein by vein, artery by artery and I would end up punished in return. I couldn’t believe it. They got proof from CCTV from the bar I went to that night, I left with a male which clearly wasn’t my husband and they couldn’t identify him for questioning but let’s face it the difference between Michael and Trevor was very obvious I mean my husband was no longer the young, muscly type that Michael was. More fool me for thinking that in no sort of way I would need Michael because if I needed him most, any time soon, it was definitely now and truth be told I was screwed. Completely fucked.   

“Love is a strange concept and marriage is another”

Just being in court made me nauseous, how did I really end up in such a place, in such a predicament where my innocence wouldn’t be heard at all. I managed to get a solicitor who was pretty much useless, i thought it’s beyond me why people pay them to do what the hell it is they do. He was more concentrated on getting me to confess to him to something that I never did. I mean I’m a little loopy sometimes and my mind really does wonder to places you couldn’t imagine but I was adamant that I never killed the prick and most importantly I would have remembered if I did, because I would have loved to have done the job my fucking self if I knew somehow I was going to end up here anyway. I would have enjoyed it, every single second of it, believe me, but I never, my hands were clean. The judge thought otherwise.

I could recite the way she tore me apart, word by word, she started subtly trying to get me to confess. I wanted to rip that ridiculous wig off her head, the more I denied the more she pushed, then she said “your scarf was found covered in your husbands blood, in your home, can you explain to me how his blood got on your scarf that night”, “did you use this to wipe the blood from the blade you used to to slit his throat?”, “did he make you angry Mrs Lawson is that why you did it?” Where did you hide this weapon Mrs Lawson?” At this point I was dragging my fingers across my face in frustration. So many questions! Unanswered questions. She knew as much as I did! Maybe a tad more. Gob smacked was an understatement. I knew nothing of this revelation, I had been set up, how could I not have seen this coming. I stuttered, but nothing I said made any sense. His blood. My scarf. How, when, why, who! WHO DID THIS. I kept screaming “it wasn’t me”, even when I was being escorted to my cell, I could feel the inmates looking at me in disgust. Wife cheats on her rich husband and kills him in a long, painful, gruesome death. Perfect headline. 

I could feel insanity literally consuming my mind, just me, four concrete walls and my thoughts, there was no way out now, no escape, I was going to rot here while he rested in peace. I threw up again, I couldn’t stomach it all, I remembered planning my own funeral in my head, I couldn’t comprehend that I would go from having everything to having absolutely nothing and being content with it. I needed to kill myself, I needed to plan it first to even get close to death because they took everything I could possible use away from me. This was the definition of mental torture, I was hopeless.

Just two days had passed, I wasn’t coping at all, I couldn’t eat, my temperature rose, my head hurt from all the crying I did, and then I just remembered closing my eyes for a long while, it felt good to just escape for a minute, but then I woke up on a hospital bed. What the hell is happening to me? I thought. I remember slightly opening my eyes to blurs of figures standing around me, I thought I was on a psychiatric ward, I panicked, I tried ripping the drip straight out of my vein, “I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy” I screamed, the nurses pinned me down trying to bring me back to equilibrium, I lost the fight, I hadn’t eaten properly in days the energy just wasn’t there. I just sat up in the bed and cradled myself until I felt a little better to have the conversation of why I was here.

A good hour later, I calmed down I had a talk with myself, “get your shit together Carmen” I told myself repeatedly, this was hard but it was something I needed to come to terms with. I was a strong woman and right now I needn’t to forget that. The nurse came over and checked my temperature, she gestured to another nurse that I was fine, she then said “Mrs Lawson, I would like to inform you that you fainted this may have been due to all the stress you are currently experiencing” then she paused. I remember looking at her, and the way she looked at me back I knew she what she was insinuating, no way, it’s not possible, then she proceeded to say, “because of this we ran some tests and discovered a hormone HCG in your blood” I just starred at her, I was speechless, she could tell that this was shocking information to me, but went on to say “Mrs Lawson, I’m not sure if you were aware… that you are pregnant and therefore need to take good care of yourself and your baby” I moved my lips to speak but nothing came out, nothing at this point made sense to me at all.

“Sometimes miracles are blessings and other times, when the timing is wrong, miracles can be deemed a curse”

Revenge: VII


“I would like to report the murder of my husband”

I remember pacing around the house trying to make sense of it all, there was no trace of anyone being in the house except him. Not one extra cup on the table, or even a chair out of place or even two or more cigarette butts in the ashtray. I knew very well that anyone Trevor conversed with in the comfort of our home always had either a cigarette or a cigar burning, but there was nothing. Not a foot print, blood splatter or pieces of the rope shedding, in sight. Was I imagining this, was this one of my twisted, sinister scenarios that I had constructed in my head? I did so, so often that my mind sometimes couldn’t differentiate between reality and the depths of my twisted thoughts. I pinched myself although I knew very well I was wide awake. This was real.

A little part of me was relieved that during the last moments of his sad, pathetic life I never overtly made him miserable or even made it slightly obvious that I was out to seek revenge. Yet a part of me was enraged that some selfish being didn’t think their own revenge through enough and completely interrupted mine. We could of constructed it together but no. I had it all carefully planned, it was all meant to go my way, and yet again somebody managed to get their hands on something I wanted to control. Maybe I should of killed him myself, maybe I wasn’t as heartless as I thought, maybe not, but I knew I was very clever and I would be damned if I let a piece of scum like him send me to the pits of hell on earth to suffer while he “rested in peace”. In “perfect” peace they said, not an ounce of guilt for the way he has hurt me, his kids, Lorraine and even his late wife. Whether he deserved this was undebatable, I hope he really does rot in the mineshafts of hell. Yet, I still wanted to know what happened, step after step, word for word I needed to hear it because I knew it wasn’t going to settle with me until I got all the answers I needed.

 The tumultuous sound of sirens interrupted my thoughts, I darted to the door and let them in before they even pulled up. I pretended to be in a right state, exaggerated whaling cries, streams of mascara running down my face, the head holding, the floor hugging, the whole lot. The last thing I needed was them assuming I was a suspect. To be ruled out I had to be questioned which to begin with I had absolutely no problems with because I knew I hadn’t killed my husband. When I went to the station and the interview commenced I felt confident until they asked about my whereabouts at the time of his death, why I “hadn’t come home that night” and how neighbours reported hearing him having a row with who they assumed was his “wife”. I could feel the sweat exuding from my pores, my heart beat increased rapidly, the deeper their assumptions grew the more I panicked, they were really picking at me. I couldn’t say “oh well officer I didn’t come home that night because I was busy shagging another man” they would of assumed that we had a row over an affair that I had and as a result I killed him and let’s not forget that I must of also did it to get my grubby little hands on his wealth. 

Eventually without having any valid proof, I got bail but that wasn’t to be the last time I saw the likes of a handcuff.
I went home, his body had been escorted to the morgue. I could hardly breathe. Just remembering when I found him made me sick again, I fell to the floor and wept. Really, really wept for what felt like an eternity, I let it all out and I couldn’t tell whether I was weeping for him or for the sake of my sanity. What had I let this man do to me, better yet why did I allow him to destroy me. Despite my hard exterior I was a broken woman. I remember laying in the bath contemplating whether to drown myself and get it over with. I was done for, my heart broken, my life unbearable, I couldn’t see much point in me living any longer. Until my phone rang. I pulled myself from under the water, I paused for a second or few. I didn’t know who to expect to be on the other end of that line and I wasn’t in any mood to talk to anyone but I jumped up to see if it was worth taking. It was her.

Lorraine was her name. Pretty well off, pretty beautiful, pretty fit, the “perfect” bitch of a mistress Lorraine. I could see why he was enticed by her, her body was immaculate. She always wore figure hugging garments that I could imagine if they were personified, would gain great pleasure from sitting on her hips or grasping her waist, or even just hugging the bustiness of her large but perky chest, clearly she never breastfed. 
Even when I saw her the first time I almost broke down in tears, how the hell could I, compete with a woman, like that. Such beauty, such youth! he always did like us young. 

I drove to her house which was an hour away, my whole head spinning. I just wanted to know why after all these years she did it. When I got there everything was clear like looking through a lens, it wasn’t her. She was inconsolable, snot everywhere, enough tears to drown in, huge puffy blood shot eyes, she had been crying for a very long time. After calming her down we had a very deep conversation and she shed a lot of light on my late “husband” and right there, all his skeletons waltzed out the closet. The majority of the time I sat there with my mouth wide open in great shock, and at other moments I could just feel him clawing at my heart because I can’t imagine that he had any good intentions when he met me, not at all. He was evil and he put his mind to ruining my purity, his goal was to tarnish my soul. Lorraine was a victim too, if anything she felt it more, I wasn’t sure if she was crying for him or for herself, just like me.

“We never actually know someone, because a person will never appear to be an accurate depiction of their true self, entirely based on our own constructed perception of them, which differs according to the emotional state we are in when we get to know them.”

I should of known, I should of known right from the start that this was the way he was going to turn out. When we met I was only a tender twenty one, young enough not to know enough but old enough to recognise a mistake. He was a big fucking mistake. I thought a nine year difference wouldn’t make a difference but it did. He was the product of the capabilities of a rich man, he knew how far he could go to obtain anything he wanted and how people would fight for his attention to please him and he utilised his power and stupidly I thought he was incapable of doing so. I thought he was feeble, ditty but undeniably lovable, but the guy was tactical and I was too young to understand it but I realise now that I openly married a cold hearted man, a liar, a cheat, 

I wouldn’t even put murder past him.

For ten years I thought I knew him, I took the time to but clearly I was deceived by my love for him, how he made me feel, how I would do anything for him, how he was my kyroptonite. He took advantage of this and discovering this hurt me ten times more than him planting his seeds in another woman because I deemed myself as a woman of substance, a woman who didn’t lack intelligence but yet, he managed to make a fucking fool out of me. 

“My marriage was a fraud. A dream.”

He was already married, he still is. He was a “widower”, when he set his perverted eyes on me, he knew that to captivate the attention of another woman she would have to be an idiot and most significantly would have to be clueless about his past, which I was completely oblivious to. He would tell me stories about his past relationships, how the women didn’t love him for him and how they just wanted the attention and money and benefits that came from being with him and then he told me I was different. He wasn’t lying. 

I was different because he could control my mind and the information he fed me for ten whole years. I’m ashamed. All those other women were clever enough to see through his bullshit and dehumanise him to all that he was worth. £££. But no not me, I had to go and seek love and worst of all, give it all to a man who didn’t deserve not even one drop of it. I found out that when his late wife tried to leave him for good, she vanished off the face of the earth, he told Lorraine that she just left with their daughter and never came back but I believe she suffered the consequences of trying to do so. I believe he killed her. It was then I had a feeling this death of his was beyond his mistress(es) this was a lot more personal than a silly affair and I wasn’t wrong.

Revenge: VI

It was a long day in the office and I decided that I didn’t want to deal with this man today, so instead I planned to go to one of the local bars in town for a change of scenery. This was about a forty-five minute drive away from home and knowing that I would get tipsy or better piss drunk and then embark on a long journey home after a hard days work made me feel human again. With all this stuff going on with him and his infidelities, it really drained me and I had unintentionally neglected myself like he once did. I decided this wasn’t fair for I was the one hurting deep down inside, and I was the one that needed somebody to confide in, besides I wasn’t the one that cheated… Yet. 

He sat down beside me as I gulped down the fifth shot, I’m not sure what I appeared to look like in the eyes of another but I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant, to be honest that was the least of my worries. This was my night, alone, and I was going to own it, the bar, the dance floor, in fact the entire club was mine for the night, in my mind.
Hi, my name is Michael, your is?’ He said ever so gently, I almost told him to shut up, to piss off, because men ain’t shit and I know my worth, but I figured that he would probably call me crazy and to be fair such a response wouldn’t be that polite. I classified myself as such, and didn’t want to ruin another’s perception of me because I got caught up in the fact that I had a shitty husband and a few drinks. I could feel his eyes piercing in to me and I wasn’t sure if it was curiosity or him mentally undressing me but I avoided eye contact at all means. I gave a slight wave while gulping down a double brandy and Coke, then trying not to slur as much as I could replied, “I’m Carmen” with my eyes slightly shut. 

I wouldn’t say I was a “light weight” but when you have single handily done five rounds of tequila shots in less than half an hour I can’t imagine that it wouldn’t be hard to be slurring and swaying all over the gaff. 

I turned my head to make some form of eye contact and when I finally did I felt the material of my panties soak as my vagina lubricated itself without consent. I blushed, he noticed, just like my husband, Michael knew the effect his presence had on women. His skin was a scarless cocoa brown, he had heart shaped plump, pink lips that sat perfectly between a well groomed moustache and beard, and when he opened his mouth he revealed a pearly set of whites, I melted at this alone and almost dropped my jaw analysing every single detail about him. Even his hair had my eyes glued to him, just by the way his waves laid, and the way his shirt clung to the mould of his sculpted muscles, he clearly took much pride in his appearance. I imagined me stroking him down, gliding my finger tips across every ribbed muscle, me biting those beautiful plump pink lips of his, I screamed inside. By now I could hear my lady calling out to him, howling for this meddling, cooing for his attention, swiftly I had to tell her to behave. 

We engaged in the general chit chat, “are you alone?”, “pardon me, do you have a husband / wife at home?”, proudly but almost ashamed with myself, I said no. Then it sort of went like this, “Can I get you drink?”, “this is my favourite what do you think?”, “how old are you?”, “I’ recognise you… your the CEO is that true?” do you have any kids?”, “do you need a lift?” “Oh this is a nice area, is this where you live?”, “Can I get a kiss?”, I think by this point I had way too much to drink, “have I come on too strong?”, he whispered “take off your thong”, “do you like that?”, “does it feel good when I bite that?”.

 My lady’s calls were answered, her cooing finally silenced and I never knew another man could attend to me that way, my husband was the first to venture this ocean, I thought it was impossible for another man who didn’t know me from across the road, make me quiver like that. Was this something all men learnt to do? Was there a class that I didn’t know of that taught men to pleasure any woman of any kind? This really blew my mind and from that moment on, I knew that my husband had lost me to someone else. 

“Through heartache and pain, bitterness brews, be aware of a broken heart, a broken soul, who has nothing to lose”

I swear I didn’t mean for it to end up like that but the urge fought me and I didn’t fight back. The excitement that I felt was equivalent to the adrenaline rush a child would experience when they lined up in the queue at a theme park, a little part of me died inside knowing that I had now become my husband’s equal. I had now experienced being a fool to the teasing flesh of another man and I only had the upper hand because it was him and a few drinks that drove me down that path. Disgust but not enough to see eye to eye with a man that deliberately broke my heart, five well four now, kids too far. 

It was early hours of the morning and I decided to sneak out of Michael’s house without leaving a trace of evidence of my existence. No number, no note, nothing this was just going to be one of those things that you swept under the carpet and carried to the grave. I called my chauffeur who looked at me appalled when I entered the vehicle, did he know? Had he noticed? I mean it wasn’t often that I stayed out over night but I could of been at a friends or a family members house, either way that was none of his damn business even if guilt was spewing from my pores I pay him to take me places and that’s all. 

After a good hour drive, we pulled up to the drive of our mansion, my husband hadn’t called me all night the uncaring, useless so called husband. I mean when I think about it anything could of happened to me, kidnap, rape, murder you name it, but I guess he didn’t love me enough to care and this discovery wasn’t new. 

I remember I got out the car and paused for a good five minutes when I noticed the front door open and every single light in the house was lit. I thought, had he clock onto my movements? What I was doing to him? Was he going to set me up? Fuck knows but at this point my heart was in my throat and I didn’t know whether to go inside or just leave. My instincts told me to leave but I knew deep down that I needed to know what had happened, I walked slowly through the front door calling his name, quietly at first, no body responded. The house was empty no sign of struggle or anything, where the fuck was he and why had the idiot left the door open? 

I proceeded to check the entire house, no sign of any missing items so I ruled out burglary. Whilst checking every room I thought what if he just decided to call it quits on me, what if he just woke up and chose to be with her? A million what ifs filled my brain, until I glimpsed him at the side of my eye, I froze, the sight i had now glimpsed was one that was going to haunt me forever. In our back garden was where he was, I almost threw up as I stood there trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Trevor was tied to our anniversary tree that we planted after celebrating our first year of marriage. His throat almost severed completely, butt naked with his manhood sawn off, this tree was ten years old and way too high for this to be a suicide and I’m sure Trevor wasn’t insane enough to saw off his Crown Jewels, his pride and pleasure, or even slit his own throat. He had been hanging for at least a few hours because the rope that assembled him to the trunk of the tree had soaked up most of his blood. I vomitted. 

I’m sure I brought up everything I had eaten in my entire life. Who did this to him? Who else’s heart did he break? Who had it out for him? Was it the whore with four kids, had she finally had the last straw and did this? My mind imagined a thousand scenarios and I couldn’t seem to pick one that would give me answers not without actual facts. I was going to find out who got to him before me and why?

“Dials 999”

under the pressure.


We are not cut from diamonds, we are not indestructible, that’s all in our heads, 
I’ve seen gallons of tears shed and 

Even the strongest have bled, 

And the fearless still end up dead, 

So hold these thoughts as I beat my pen,

In search of the words to take you through the emotions I’m trying to express, 

These are some of the thoughts that reside in my head, 

Listen carefully,

As I guide you through ’em step by step. 
Under the pressure, yeah that’s nothing new, 

The media got me thinking about purchasing the latest clothes and shoes, 

Forgetting that I could put my money to much better use,

Click with me if you think this is true,

I could save and put a mortgage on a house or 

I could invest in the community and give the youths a mouth, or 

I could open up a business to help young mothers out 

Or i could pretend not to see the destruction pressure is causing and stay quite as a mouse.
But that’s not me, my purpose is to lead so sometimes when I hear the youths talk, my heart pleads 

With the Lord to give them the knowledge to understand what we really need,

To understand who we are, 

To look beyond the fame,money and cars,

To look deep within our hearts,

And understand that whether we’re black or white we are all stars.
Mothers struggle to survive,

I see the pain in their eyes,

Trying to provide their child with a life,

That will enable them to climb the ladders that they need to find, 

To make it in life,

But instead the one they waited 9 months to be bred, 

Ends up in a cell or even worse dead,

Click for each tear a hopeless mother has shed.
It’s a lot deeper than just feeling like we’re influenced because it’s not just that 

Now bare with me while I talk some facts 

Courage, determination, even education is what some of us lack 

21% of our youths are locked up,

Because they know no better than to act like a thug,

The young kings of our generation just need some guidance and some love,

Instead we idolise celebrities who don’t give a fuck,

Hear the frustration in my voice as I explain why it’s tough,

To witness people putting their life and talents to waste, 

Cause when I look at others I just want them to be nothing but great, 

But Very little of us have pure hearts,

The world is full of fakes, I understand feeling like people really want the best for you is hard,

So be real to yourself from the very start, 

Cause deep down all we have is ourselves, 

And out here for frustrated youths there’s very little help, 

I’m repelled 

Just because they offend to create a living for themselves,

Doesn’t mean they want to spend their life in a cell.

Yet we have people who just turn their noses up at them and shrug oh well, 

Failing to see that for them, this is their perception of hell. 
I’m trying to escape these social chains

If he can do it then she can do it, 

Because we can do it, Even though we ain’t the same 

I can’t seem to tame,

The constant ticking of my brain,

In a life where you don’t always reap what you sow it’s hard to not see this as a game 

The more I think, the more I write, 

The more it flows, the more I try

To speak things into existence eventually we’ll see the light,

Cause even when I drop,

I pick myself up, I never stop and 

with or without others I aim to come out on top,

I mean who really wants to spend their entire life in a 9-5 job.
We need to guide eachother and be against

The stereotypes that we have been set

And refuse to believe the bullshit we’ve been fed, 

Otherwise success is just a figment of our imaginations,

And just because your living and breathing it doesn’t mean you can’t be dead.

You’ll remain puppets to the elite, 

Slaves to the street

Unless like me, 

your woke enough to find your feet.
I’ve come too far to derail and fall off track,

Don’t sleep on me, I’m in full attack 

Because Unless you can conquer the pressure your bound to crack, 

I don’t know about you but I’ll rather look broke and have money in the bank,

Than compete with people with no sense and half empty tanks,

Wait can we replay that back.