I have some beautifully bad memories, I do Hope you’re okay, pretending that you’re okay Never to know what interest looks like, from From the other side Trapped, drowning Under the tide I’m held Speak, louder I don’t die, I Just keep living longer I do, have some infinitely large memories Bad, worse Pretending that I have hope, even okay Never to know… That the otherside has interest, that The other one has interest

In dreams In sudden dreams In screams In sudden screams Save me? Not Likely Is it ever like me? Not Likely These days bring shadows closer Movement in the peripheral Vision, bound to hopelessness and loss In dreams In sudden dreams, I die In screams In sudden screams, I cry Save me, not likely Not like me? Not like…

I’m far too old to give a fuck about anything, really Eager, halfway between sea and heaven Held, gently, gingerly You’re okay now Beautiful maiden Well I will be able to tell the time apart soon Should or at least would, couldn’t even have nailed it if he tried If you are beginning to remember the “Cold…

This workshop followed on from the Tutored session with the wonderful Cynthia Rogerson who has long been a great friend to HUG. It was lovely to see some of our members recognise her and see the kindness and gentleness with which she led the session on 27th May — Thanks…

1: I have just finished telling someone something I find funny and watch them gauge whether to laugh or not because they’re not sure if I’m joking or not. 2: I tell them that they can laugh now. 3: They laugh. 4: The joke has lost its funniness by now…

This piece was written by Michele as part of a session led by our lovely member and colleague — Joanna Kerr. She asked us to image that we were trees or flowers and to use that as our inspiration — Sue I come in many shapes and sizes depending on…

We did an exercise recently which is about not being too “precious” about our work and letting it go. You’ll see some of the work we produced in later posts. This was a story I wrote and became too precious about it to let it go. So here it is…

The postie shoved a slightly soggy brown envelope through my door. Somniac. Mr I.N. Read the first line through the rain splotched cellulose window. “Later” I thought as it landed on my table. The hours rolled past. Tasteless meals and flavourless TV marked their passing. At last bed time. Tired…

For years I have remained frozen in the same spot Reluctant to move forwards, or backwards Just staying there where the pain felt most comfortable I swayed in the wind Sometimes violently, sometimes gently But always staying there where the pain felt most comfortable ‘Oxygen I turned into poison Allowing it…