Without Rhyme Nor Reason


I fell in love

With you,

A man I had never met.

Dark and dangerous,

Full of secrets–

Countless things that pulled me close.

You loved me,

A younger girl,

With a mind as broken

As her heart.

I fell in love–

How broken I was!

How fearful, how lonely.

How could you be

So patient with me?



Pulled away,

Couldn’t fight it–

But couldn’t stay.

I fled,

Eyes closed shut

And a mind


To admit it.


I ran away,

Wishing you

Would chase me–

But instead, you



You knew

I would come back.


You stayed there, waiting.

You watched me

Weep, and grow.

You shaped me into

A healthier love

For you.

You let me grow,

Giving me a place

Where I

Can be safe.


Without rhyme, nor reason–

You stayed

With me.




Little snippets of time, a raw attempt

To clutch at what slips away.

Sand of pixels,

Slipping through our eyesight–

An attempt to clutch

At the ghost that was

Your smile.



Slipped on, right by me;

Standing there with a camera,

I took as many

Snapshots as I had film

To try and recreate

The feelings you bring

For when

You are gone.


The photos came out blank–

Sheets of failures,

And dim ghosts

That can’t bring

Your smile

Back to life.


I take pictures still,

One day longing

To create

The things I had not done

When I was busy

Taking photographs

Of your smile.

HER: Chapter One–Haunted


–Jamie’s POV–

I walked alone, listening to Unintended, daydreaming of Her. I could feel Her touch, hear Her voice, hear Her laugh. I could sense Her beside me, touching me, Her gentle laugh like a song to my ear. I smell the sweet perfume of Her skin, feel Her breath tickle my skin, tremble when She nestles Her face into my neck.

My gaze is drawn upwards, to the dimly shining sunlight broken by the network of branches, a net of night to catch the sun. I inhale the gentle scent of the wild: The perfume of the dew-wet grass, the musk of animals, and the soft scent of the trees. It soothed me, whisking away the scent of Her, gently washing away my agony. I paused, feeling the sensations: The gentle breath of the wind, the coolness of the shade, the idle warmth of the sun. I sigh, breathing deep, for once free.

But then I feel Her press up against me, feel Her breath warm my skin, feel Her tongue tickle my neck, feel Her lips kiss and wander the tender skin of my throat. I gasp, and murmur, “Oh, angel….Why do you torture me so?”

She laughs, and murmurs into my ear, soft as a dream, “Because you killed me….”

I force out a choking sigh, and She laughs once more, “But I didn’t kill you….”

She whispers back, Her voice soothing and tempting, “Because I haunt you….Like you haunted me….”

“But….I didn’t kill you….” I say again, trembling at Her touch.

“You have my blood on your hands….” She whispers, Her hand taking mine and raising it so Her eyes can gaze at the red upon it. I pull my hand away, and She slips around me, so She can gaze into my eyes. “You killed me….” She says again, “You have my blood upon your hands….”

I break into a sprint, running straight through Her, gasping at the sudden shock of cold as It blasts through me.

As I burst through the trees and into the clearing, startling families and halting conversations with my screams, I hear Her laughing behind me….

Torturing me.

But then I feel Her hands take mine….Draw me back into the shelter of the trees….

I let Her.

As I lose myself in Her sweet torture, watching the families slowly return to their laughter and their games, I spy a single young man rise from his seat ‘neath a tree, walk forwards, long-fingered hands slipping golden hair behind many-pierced ears.

As I hear Her laugh and as I tremble, I meet his all-too-familiar deep green eyes. He walks forward, his eyes wide, and I scarcely catch his murmuring voice on the breeze but I hear it nonetheless: “Jamie…?”

Her spell shatters, and She goes.

I fall to my knees, gasping for breath.

Logan runs to me, falling into a crouch beside me, grasping my shoulders. “Jamie, is that you?”

I fall into my old friend’s arms, crying. “Logan….” I force out, and he hugs me carefully, gently.

“Jamie….What has life done to you?” he asks, pushing me to arm’s length, regarding me with worried eyes.

I laugh, and regard him in turn. “Life has done nothing to me….You haven’t changed.”

He lapses into a frown. “Then what has changed you…? And just because my pretty face hasn’t changed doesn’t mean I haven’t,” he cracks a grin, trying to make me smile, “The last time we saw each other….You had Her blood on your hands, and I was all but dead. So I HAVE changed….I’m no longer bleeding out!”

He tries to smile again, but he fails.

We sit there, regarding each other, remembering. Struck by a sudden recollection, I say in a rush, “Do you remember when we climbed the tree that day–in grade five? I fell off the top branch, and you jumped after me, only to turn into a landing pad when we hit the ground.”

He laughs. “How could I forget? You always were a twig–but I didn’t know how much skinny bones can hurt until you stabbed me with your elbow.”

I laugh with him, thinking back. “If I remember correctly, you cried and punched me.”

He raises his eyebrows, smirking. “No….If my memory serves me rightly, it was you who cried when I punched you. And what could you have expected, young Jamie? You could’ve killed me with an elbow like that….”

I punch him on the arm, and he mimes a hurt expression, dropping his lower lip into an unhappy pout.

“Aw….Little Jamie thinks he can take me!”

I tackle him, and for a while we fight, wrestling, pinning each other like we had so many years ago. Logan, a young man who I hadn’t seen in three years, a young man who I had once viewed as my brother, who I loved with everything I was. This young man and I fought as we had once fought, before….Before Her.

But then we stop, and roll away from each other, pulling each other to our feet, gasping.

Gasping at Her touch, and hearing Her mocking laugh.

Logan’s eyes focused on mine, trembling, grasping my hand tightly. “Is it always like this…? Does She always….” He falls into silence, unable to speak as he trembles again.

“Torture me? Yes….Now that you’re near me, She tortures you, too….” I reply, and his hand tightens on mine one last time before he whirls away, breaking free of my hand, leaving me behind.

Before he returns to the park, Logan turns to me one last time, and yells in farewell, “I’m the one who killed her! I’m the one….I pushed her from the balcony!”

He starts back towards me, as if regaining a sense of strength.

I look at him, and gesture for him to go. “But you’re not the one She haunts….”

Logan’s eyes meet mine one last time, only a hundred meters away but yet so far, before he nods in thanks
and goes, leaving me behind him forever with the girl he killed.

She laughs, calling, “Goodbye, Logan dear! I will see you again soon….”

I tremble, and watch him break into a desperate run, escaping from the dark world he had cast me into, leaving behind his greatest friend.

“Goodbye….” I murmur.

HER: Introduction


Her is a novella I began several years ago, when I was much younger. I still fiddle with it every now and then, hence why I will be posting it here.

I often have difficulty describing it–it’s kind of a ghost love-story, with a relatively complex plotline. It’s somewhat twisted, occasionally edging into the pornographic, but nothing exactly overt. It reads a lot like a mystery novel, at times.

The title refers to an unnamed ghost woman who, while at a party with all of the main characters, plunged from a balcony to her death. She knows exactly how she died, but none of the other characters do, and she enjoys tormenting everyone who was there the night she died. She haunts them, punishing them for her death–and says that, when who pushed her from the balcony is brought to justice, she will leave them alone.

She has some poltergeist-abilities, so she definitely is able to torment everyone she finds. Meanwhile, her targets deal with their own personal issues; secrets don’t like to stay secret, when the dead are around.

I plan to post HER once a week, beginning with the seven previously-written chapters. These posts will occur on Wednesdays, and hopefully I will have more chapters when the old ones are done.

I hope you enjoy,

Half-Mad Writer

Pride vs Self-Loathing: Why I Need to Lose Weight


Let’s face it, I’m screwed up. I was bullied all my childhood, manipulated into stripping on cam from the ages of fourteen to sixteen, my mind separated into what could almost have been called Dissociative Identity Disorder, and I even dealt with a mild form of PTSD. I wanted to kill myself three times, each time getting very close to actually attempting it.

I’m massively screwed up. Even to this day, I have a hard time speaking up in person about anything personal–and, the only time I do, it’s pretty much only with someone I’ve known forever. In school, I’m lucky if I raise my hand willingly once a week. I’m that shy.

So, what I need to do is make myself better. I need to turn myself into someone who, even though I’ll probably never get past the whole I’m-more-interesting-to-talk-to-than-everyone-else stage of my mentality, will be brave enough to actually be less of a wallflower. I’m tired of fading into the background, and feeling like air.

I need to get more confident, so the only way I can think of is positive affirmations–with my healthier lifestyle. I’ll feel a lot better when I am no longer living with a Body Mass Index (BMI) of…insert a number here that sits pretty solidly in the ‘obese’ range, not just overweight. When I get down to my goal weight of 150, I will be able to look back at myself and realize just how much I accomplished.

That, darlings, will be 50 pounds lost.

Once I get down to 150, I might even go further–whatever it takes to love myself again.

I really don’t love myself, which is…not good in a relationship. You can’t love someone else unless you love yourself, as the saying goes. I still see, all too well, the amount of times I’ve failed–and the realization that I weigh so very much is not something that helped me like me.

I have to admit that I feel better about myself now that I’ve lost weight, though–the fact that I’m changing is certainly helping me feel better.

I just wish that I could go back in time, and shake myself. Stop myself from ever getting this far–both in weight, and in emotions. I want to genuinely trust myself again, and have faith I won’t get too far. I haven’t felt that I can trust myself in a very long time.

A part of me wishes I could go back, and stop myself from being abused. So I wouldn’t deal with intimacy issues, fear, and a need to be abused. So I wouldn’t deal with feeling like I was nothing unless I was lusted after.

The rest of me?

It’s glad I got the kick in the pants I needed to be awake, and more aware of myself. It’s glad I’ve got the anger to fuel my self-improvement, as well as a deep need for change. It’s glad I got the ability to mature and improve, from making so large a mistake.

Still, that doesn’t mean I’m secure in myself. I NEED to feel needed, quite a bit. I don’t feel well unless I’m loved.

Maybe one day I’ll get past it?


One day, I WILL get past it.

One day, I will be both proud of, and love, myself.

You Broke Me Down (But I Got Back Up)


You probably still brag

About that girl you broke–

That girl, that little dark-haired girl…..

Who you tore in two.

You ripped out her soul,

Destroyed her childhood, and

Robbed her of innocence.

You shaped her

Into a tool you could use–

Something you could abuse,


And cause

To mistrust

Absolutely everything

In her life.

You took away her sense

Of her own self.

You made her second-guess


Love, relationships,

Her every choice and mood.

You took away her ability

To breathe without

Fear of being seen.


I imagine

You still brag

About how you made her cry.

About how you tore her soul apart–

You probably still brag,

And still remember,

How you made her


To die,

Just to escape you.


I imagine

You never forgot,

About me–

The girl you used until she

Couldn’t breathe


The girl you stole

From her heart and home–

Just to make her be

What you wanted her

To be.


I’m sorry, but that….

That isn’t me.

I’m able to breathe,

Able to see.

I’m dancing and smiling,

Proud of myself.

My body is improving,

My life is improving.

I’m getting better and better.


You keep bragging,

You keep mocking–

You’ll just keep

Lagging behind me

As I run.


I’m so much better than you–

Be proud of me,

You broken man.


Be proud of me,

As I destroy your soul

The way

You destroyed mine.

Reach Me With Halos


Reach me with your good,

Say that you mean well.

Lie to me if you must–

After all

You only want what’s best.

Lie to me if you must–

You seriously don’t believe

I can see your reasons?

Your silly belief behind

Every little lie?

Don’t you think I can see

You don’t want what’s best for me?


You want what’s best for you,

So I don’t leave you behind.

You need me behind you,

Supporting you and loving you

But you won’t do the same for me.

You never do the same for me.


I’m tired of saying you’re okay;

And I’m tired of forgiving

Your little mistakes.

I want what’s best for me–

And that might not be,

That might not be….


That might not be you.


INSPIRATION: Halo by Evans Blue