life will get better
then worse
then better again
because life is not about
consistency
it will change
it will hurt
but it will be beautiful
and broken
and incredible
and horrible
and *worth it

do not tell me that my sickness is fake
because I know all too well
how it feels to be
bound in chains only I can feel
with a terror only I can sense
vines around my throat
muffling my cries
and gasping for breath with plenty of air around

Before then I thought I had felt it all. I thought I had felt the hottest hate and the warmest love, the coldest loneliness and the smoothest sorrow. But in that moment I thought my blood would ignite. Every blood vessel in my body felt the instant pressure of rage, a burning heat of pain with the searing speed of betrayal I thought I could never handle.
Simultaneously my heart froze, my pump couldn't take getting pierced any deeper. So in the moment between a blink and the tear, ice entombed my heart. Making sure nothing would ever cut so deep again. Even the heated rage of my blood doesn't stand a chance to warm my soul in time for the spring melt.

-Rowan A. Eyzaguirre

To ride these rivers of light onward forever, screaming infinite curses to destinations and endings-
We shall never die-
Until the undertow finally ***** us, resisting with all our might, into the abyss of aeons and darkness-
That darkness is unknown, but not necessarily black,
As much as I know, at least.

To run on forever until my legs are ground down to pulp beneath me, and then drag myself on with ****** fingers mangled against the world's mottled asphalt
Until old age or blood loss takes me
And removes the "I"
From my existence.

To forge forward immortal
'til proven otherwise.

I live alone here.
here is my island
where no man has set foot
but me
and if you’re reading this it means
you found a bottle
and this was inside it.
You see, I have what I
need,
water, fish, and coconuts
the weather is fine,
I lie naked in the sun each and every day,
but I am alone, and dead to all the world.
The only comfort in which I can partake
is these notes-
some of them letters to family and friends whom I’ll never see again
some are descriptions of faces or trees or sunsets I’ve seen
some are just thoughts I want to give to the world
before I eventually die here.
I hope you’re reading this-
because if you are,
it means I didn’t wither in silence
to be washed over by waves
or blown away
in a storm.
You, the reader of this note,
have validated my existence
by confirming that I ever existed at all

and for that I thank you.

I never suspected I had OCD
Until I replayed your voicemail
On the answering machine
A total of twelve times
Every evening
Just to hear your voice again
Or until I opened your dresser drawer
Thirty times
Before I went to bed
Just so I could smell
Your leftover scent
Wafting into the air
Or until I rearranged my shoes
In the closet four times
Before I left the house
Because you hated tripping over them
On your way out
But I knew I didn't have OCD
When I finally locked the door
And turned off the light
And made the bed on your side
For the very last time.

I'm a little surprised
It took til now to realize
That I'm a little more than a
Little attracted to crazy.
Maybe crazy isn't the right word
That spark of divine madness-
The muse incarnate.
Sometimes they look very similar
And it takes months to figure out the difference,
In your case I think I just called it close enough.

Crazy beats boring, I suppose.
It overcomplicates things, that's for sure.

I don't know what love is any more
Because I've now discovered that one day you can be in love
And the next day find yourself the cuckolded brunt of a very brutal existential joke.
At any rate, that drug-fueled madness we shared, trying to fix each other so desperately,
Trying to feel something so impetuously,
Whether that was intimacy or just validation,
Collapsed. Go figure.

Madness at its finest,
And it left chaos in its wake.
For me at least. You seemed alright.
And I use the word "alright" very loosely there.

I want to write
like music makes me feel.
So strong, so profound,
meaningful and free.
I wish to experience life
like a cinematographic masterpiece.
Every detail precariously perfected.
Every color, every scene, flawless.
I want to view the world
like a surrealist's painting.
Abstract, and pleasing,
Intriguing,
knowing there's more than meets the eye.

The dark of my night is without contrast.
It is impending,
Heavy,
And it blankets and submerges
Like dreamless sleep.

The dark of my night is all-encompassing.
It wants to make me like it.
To fade me into static
And overwhelm me.

The dark of my night is without answer
Resonating echoes breaking like waves along my rib bones
Reverberating in the hollow cavity of my skull
Rattling the rice-grain small bones of my inner ear.

The dark of my night is haunting.
It sleeps and dreams of me,
Awake,
And pawing my way through it
With eyes closed.
It hides in still pools underground
In swaths of twilight fog
In places still untouched by the human gaze.

The dark of my night is motionless
And mute
And numb.

World of weight in balance
Things you never see -  blind
Effects of smiles thrown overboard
In this together, how are you so alone?
Getting away with pride- false pride
Putting yourself down, dead weight
Running away from your dreams