Pages: Wounds, Volume One

Wednesday, 2 April 2014


Stunning blogger Renee Ruin observes the bad and the beautiful in 'Wounds: Volume One' a collection of evocative and eloquent poetry that will haunt you until you pick it up again.

I waited months for this stunning collection to reach British soil and after tempting fate and pestering Renee it arrived the next day. From the moment I met the palm that graced the front cover I couldn't put Wounds down, it lay next to my bed for weeks tempting me to dip in and out, rereading my favourite repeatedly.

Each poem of Wounds remains untitled, unnamed, but belonging, mirroring each colliding content of Wounds somber tones. Renee traps words in sweethearts, every word of the second poem in this persistent, penetrating voice that watches 'every street on your way home' and steals glances in your car window. A sign off  'Take care, sweetheart. Play fair, sweetheart.' called me back time and time again, 'Living different lives in empty beds.' resonating obsession to strength.

The fourth poem of the collection begins 'I need to feel warmth' a desperate, longing verse of the need to feel overtaking the empty grief that can consume a person depraved of love. The destructive 'I need to know these bones can still break' illustrating the need to feel in a state where it does not matter what you feel as long as you feel something. This unknown torment continuing into the sixth poem 'I'm dragging my knuckles... trying to remember the way home' as Renee's words descend into a madness and unbalance that reiterates Wounds. 

Eight printed pages in will find you in the most intriguing image constructed, 'My sister wrote letters to the dead and hid them in her bedroom drawers.' An idea, an image, a beginning to an unknown story I can only finish in my head. This escape continuing Renee's most iconic words of the entire collection, words that pull away from the self indulgence of a broken soul.

'We forget how little the world owes us. How little we think, how little we care'

A midst hurt it is not difficult to forget that we all feel pain. In the dark corners of our wounds it is hard to remember that there are others that have made it out just fine, others that have gone through much worse and others that never made it out alive. Wounds is restating anguish, stress and torment in beautiful images and enlightening phrasing, a collection worth of hours hanging on every word.

Get your copy here.

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