Cockroaches crawling,

Everywhere I see,

No escape from reality,

new corruption is key.

Step over the weak.

Better left behind.

Stab dreamers in the backs,

Slip into the cracks.

Jump out in the dark,

Leave their mark.

Come at you sleeping,

or if you are weeping.

Overcrowded high rises,

hot as hell’s saunas

Leave in their trail,

new generation of mourners.

Written by Natalie Wardle


Evening grows cold,

tide is weary.

Waves beckon me,

anxious I get teary.

Feelings grow darker,

waves pull me down.

Memories are weeping sirens,

me a sailor left to drown.

Written by Natalie Wardle


Fox howls in the January wind,

3:48am echo greets me.

Company in solitude,

return to primitive mood.

Future to be defined,

fox understands me,

Fox is the same

He too is hunted,

so to hunt is the game.

Written by Natalie Wardle


Eyes so scornful,

aim to create turmoil.

Tell me I make no sense when I speak,

to make me submissive, meek.

Avoiding argument,

scared to utter a peep.

You tell me what my thoughts are,

so I doubt my own.

Destroying is the tactic you deploy.

Under your trance I played the hunted.

Devoid of senses, teeth in neck,

defiled woman meets her fate.

To try to be pretty for you,

is to be better off dead.

You fantasise of murder,

defending call to action,

Dead woman are the least vain,

the audience enjoy this undoing,

Satisfied, they get their cheap thrill.

Written by Natalie Wardle


Pagan heart of mine,

dead to pain I can’t contain

Conditioned to please,

urge to break free

Self destructive tendencies,

soon I’ll be a crone

One who should know better,

but know not what I know

When I feel, I feel too much,

leave me, enjoy being alone

Yes I think I’d rather like to be…

To be a crone