on days where the sun sinks quietly into submission and allows the moon to conquer the sky, the trees revel in the dull yellow defeat as and the horizon waves a colorless flag or a nod to the sun and the lonely sunset. over the pond , life will cease until morning and spirits will dance among the trees, cold. ∆¨®ˆ˚∂ßπ until the battle returns and the sun takes over with it's dull brilliance. the tears from the oh so lonely ghosts will turn to dust until the strength returns. this is the cycle

there is.
a ladybug on the ceiling.
there is nothing more.
maybe a lady on the negatives
on a 35mm in
a pawnshop.
but there is
a  ladybug on the ceiling.
they are the same

drip...
      drip...
             drip...
a leaky faucet that someone didn't quite finish closing off
a cry for help when the ties of the rope aren't tight enough to hold your weight in lies and sadness.
so a slow drip will suffice
but you'll wish to expedite this pain by drowning yourself
but someone didn't quite finish closing you off
so you'll die
drop by drop.

and you used to love the water
the way it was refreshing and cleansing
and reminded you of the feelings we had
I left you on edge
I left you unhinged
I left you not quite closed off

I left you loose and you still poured out for me
I left you with hope and you drip on...

Waiting.
Watching.
The mirror in the hallway.
The sky is grey as your eyes follow the beam
of the streetlight into the
mirror in the hallway.
You close the blinds
vertical turned linear,
beams of light.
You drag your gaze to the mirror in the corner of the hallway.
You deadpan,
stare at your hands.
Raw, soft, red, frail.
Anxiety under your fingernails.
You poke at your skin,
you shove the pins
into your fingertips.
Where did these pins come from?
People call them safety pins, but now they’re preventing us
from putting the safety on these
metal weapons we point at ourselves in
deep reflection.
I DON’T KNOW MY REFLECTION.
I’ve been sitting with pins in my fingertips for years
I’ve been staring at the lights for months,
I’ve been looking in the corner of the mirror for weeks,
I’ve been gazing at the door for days.
I’ve been waiting for hours.
I’ve been waiting for myself to come home through
the reflection of the door from the mirror in the hallway
and take the (safety) pins out and kiss me on the cheek though
the glass and say
“You are enough, you are perfect, you are beautiful”
The street lights are on again.
I drop the blinds again
vertical lights turned linear.
The sky is a deeper grey.
The pins are still in my fingertips.
Death is under my fingernails.
Darkness is at my door.
Street lights can only light up so much at a time
And I’ve been in the shadows for months.
I’ll keep waiting.
I’ll keep gazing.
I’ll keep looking.
I’ll keep staring.
I’ll keep sitting.
The light has to come soon
The shadows will fade soon
Darkness will leave my door soon
Death will be cleansed from my nails soon
My reflection has to come home soon
The safety will put back on soon
I will be home soon
I swear on it.

These pins can not stay in my fingertips forever.

I will take them out for myself when I get home.

I am almost home.

I departed the plane of my mind and passed by the baggage claim,
I did not want to carry my baggage anymore

I swear if I had the chance to be in her body with her head maybe I'd be happy. this comparison is not healthy for me but if I just had her curves and naturally beautiful singing voice then maybe I'd like myself. why can't I be like her. I envy her long blonde hair. I envy being looked at like I'm worth something outside of when one's in the mood to look at me even if for sake of vanity. I envy constant affection. please send me a gm text please. I want to mean something to you . I want to see what you say. that would be so nice

please throw me into the fire.
I'm cold enough without your shade
and I may end up in the flames in the end.
so please friend, tell me what difference it would make.

LET ME DRINK YOUR WORDS LIKE THEY ARE THE FRESHEST WATER ON EARTH AND LIKE I AM DYING OF THIRST.
GIVE ME A DROP OF YOUR POETIC SALVATION.

she keeps telling people to come and find her,
but she was never there in the first place.
she's always been gone
and she's just left the most useless part of her
behind because
people always told her that's what they liked most.
she's been sending you postcards in the form of the sun,
she's been writing you letters and signing with love.
she's so far away and
she's leaving a trace
but no one was ever looking for her in the first place.
they were looking for a home in an empty shell and
found a walk in closet that was just "good enough" and
gave her their laundry to hold until they found
newer clothes and moved away,
she's still holding them, pretending you stayed.
and to your dismay
she managed to leave
and still carries your baggage inside her shirt sleeves

I thought God was calling me until I realized my phone was dead and
my brain was just reverberating the ringtone that was ingrained in my head next to your name.
I'm so ******* lame, because
it was just the static along with the 100 miles with no signals.
a you showed me what love was when I thought my savior had left me.
I thought you were the one, darling..
only to have you smash my heart as much as my ******* phone screen.
it's okay though,
I have my network to back me up after you left me.
so more more dial tones.

words as windows,
screen protecting the fall.
Is the screen made of computer or woven mesh?
Lately, they seem the same.
Stopping me from falling into the abyss
that haunts me with that same darkness.
her eyes were the only light that food me and
showed me how to raise my hands to the sky, showing me to reach taller.
BUT I DIDN’T KNOW I’D BE RAISING HER UP LIKE I DO.
a glance into her brain proved too orange to bear.
I was too mint for her.

i took the different way to school today,
the way through town roads and lots of stop signs,
no ditches to be found.
had I taken the way,
up country roads and
down outskirt streets
with a crevice ready to become a casket
at any ****
of mental path or
steering wheel.
i suppose i could be dead
in that casket right now
but i was driving the safe way-
still looking for a ditch,
I'M MAKING DITCHES OUT OF FLOWERBEDS
AND HOPING THEY'LL HURT AS BAD

she was the type of girl you'd see in a park,
singing to the dandelions while strumming a guitar.
she was the type of girl to fall asleep next to her guitar
on bed of grass at the bottom of a hill.
magic in her fingers, she'd press her light frame to the grass
and force the darkness from her lungs into the earth.
magic in her eyes, mistress of the night.
banisher of spirits into the vacuum of space where
the only thing promised is eternal and infinite blackness.
magic in her lips, she kissed the fallen leaves
turning them to amber hues when the seasons get too cool for her life to flourish.
magic rattling through her bones when the winter nights are cold,
harboring flowers in her veins, she’d bleed to let them live.
magic in her blood, letting it drip to the mud
turning it auburn and burgundy.
she was the magic that is life
and the beholder of all things good.

One of my favorite songs is by a guy named Watsky, it’s called sloppy seconds. It used to mean so much more, but I’ve grown . And now I’m here, and you ring, and I pick up, and it’s all for you.
You told me that it's your fault, but how I have to do this for you. I told you
“But you’re my friend, so I suppose I owe you trying to clean up this mess”
I need to pick up your pain. I’m listening to the song and thinking about all the times that have numbed me to taking up other people’s sloppy seconds but the song always told me
“I don’t care where you've been, how many miles, I’ll still love you”     and so i did.
I still do for some others. Please understand, this is not all  ̶f̶o̶r̶  you.
I stopped you.
I caught this one.
I’m holding this a dustpan for the cremains of this mess and picked up the shattered urn of feelings.
I handed you the broom. Whether you use it or not is your decision.
It’ll get cleaned up in the end, either way.
I WANT TO DO THIS OUT OF LOVE NOT OUT OF PROTECTION.
WHAT THE ****.

i'm sitting on windowsills like they did
and now i'm in the same trap
a small room of a universe/
purple fairy lights and the warm glow,
i'm ready to go home to the sky.
a soft death and bad habits to kick
from touching myself to recreate physical touch I don't receive to
crying over the friends in my head and
writing daisy petal eulogies on a deathless flowerbed.
sleeping on them like they're still living.
I'm alone and it's the same as death=
just let me die.

they say there's smog in L.A.
but have you taken a look in my brain?
that one day when you yanked me into that room,
knowing you, I was afraid to enter.
because Alex was in the next one over.
I was headed there to play music so we could drop a boulder on our emotions,
just for those ten minutes.
I was one year older,
but I went by you anyway.
he didn't say much
to me the rest of the day.
I said yes because the pressure on me was more than a TV-
crew stalking me and my heart.
my emotions were fleeting and then you started to proceed in asking.
I SAID YES because of the smog was bowing thicker and I almost suffocated under your gaze.
I wanted to make you happy,
BUT HAPPINESS IS NOT A STATUS THAT I CAN
-“check yes in this box”-
around my thoughts.
so believe me when I say, that day messed me up
but I was waiting for the day for you to
turn away to someone else.
I needed to be me for once…

and so I told you,
again and again.
and only to your surprising dismay you realized that
I MAY NOT BE WHAT MY SHELL APPEARS TO BE.
that the pain in your voice caused me hell- I haven't slept well.
but you make ME out to be another girl,
leaving for a guy.
NOT EVERYONE IS THAT WAY.
had the connection been real
had the affection and your lips on my neck felt real
and made me FEEL SOMETHING,
then maybe I'd have stayed.
but no, so I'm the one to blame,
and honey… love is a two way game, and in this one
the winning cards weren't shuffled for you.
you said you UNDERSTOOD me and the way we'd be.
pain, it's visible.
IF you care,
you didn't stop hurting me there.
I SAW YOUR HURT because I was feeling it too.
you didn't dare take a look at me though. at any of me.
ME.
MY SHELL MAY LOOK LIKE IT’S DOING WELL.
but most days it held a near death entity.

so I'm an ex now…
okay.
I still hurt, but there's nothing I can say to make you believe
my pain is also valid.

I guess I never mattered...

If my brain bled visible colors in an outwardly tangible spectrum, they’d be dampened maroons and lifeless oranges. They’d drip like pools of broken glass built for thoughtless reflections and a trivial life question based on why my lungs want the oxygen so bad...

sometimes the world is all a line .

and sometimes it's a million tiny orange lights as i glide above the clouds.
the perspective of my life is brought to my attention.
the woman to my right has some anxious tendencies.
she’s been picking at her left fingernails for the duration of the flight thus far.
the woman to my left seems to be coming home to her man or a family member.
they’re both watching a movie that i have no idea about.
she seems conflicted..
right woman likes coke and cookies.
she is also cold/
she rolled down her sleeves and pulled out a light button up .
she attempted to cover herself with t.
left woman has beads on.
probably coming from a reserved celebration of mardi gras.

i dont know.

she said she missed me
I said I missed the way I felt
she said she regrets ******* up
I said I don't give a ****
she said she sees I've found my happiness
I said "yeah, with someone else"
she said I'm glad you're happy
I said I'm sorry that you're not
she said I've lost all my friends
I said I'm sorry but that's okay
she said she's been looking for happiness
I asked if she'd found it
she said she didn't

MAYBE THE REASON WHY PEOPLE CAN'T
FIND HAPPINESS IS BECAUSE THEY NEVER
BOTHERED TO LOOK FOR IT IN THEMSELVES

I know I said that I wouldn't write too much anymore but now it's all I can drag myself to do.
I almost called the suicide hotline 20 minutes ago because I was sad and the days seem to drag and I try to make myself look happy but I'm so ******* miserable underneath Especially on nights like these.
I sit and I cry and I cry and I cry and nothing helps.
I took a shower so hot that my entire body turned bright red and stood in it until I felt nothing. I picked up a pencil and tried to draw but my hand didn't move and I made eye contact with myself in the mirror and I cried again .
I hate the way I look when I cry, and that made me cry harder.
I want to eat again but that'd be the fourth time today and I'm too afraid to.
The kids across the hall are getting drunk and I can hear them stumbling around and I wonder what it's like to be them right now.
I'm not writing this to get attention, I'm writing this to get it off my chest.
I feel a little bit better now.
I'll be fine tomorrow.

I am a child of the stars
Conceived from stardust
And sketched from the kisses of Orion.

I am a child of Jupiter
Formulated from the amber streaks that pinch my frame together
And the unknown beneath the surface.

I am the child of the Milky Way
From the exploding stars that burrowed in my eyes and my heart
And the nebulas that are trying to piece themselves together.

I am a part of the sky that happened to fall down and bruise my skin with dirt
From the bones under the grass
And the charcoal smudges speckling my back.

I am a child of the black hole
Whispered into my ear and filled my brain with darkness
And rests in the bottom of my stomach.

I am a child of the sun
That puts the warmth in my body
And fight the darkness in my head.

I am the child of the stars
Conceived from stardust.


Watch me shine.

sometimes people tell me that
my cheeks get red and bumpy after
my tears have dropped down them.
And sometimes it looks like the sun has kissed me in my eyes and
overpowered the darkness behind.
And sometimes it leaves freckles on my cheeks and I like them.
so I cry a little longer.
holding on to the beauty behind the salty streams and
the external effect to the internal intent of these sun tears that
freckle my cheeks.

there's this idea



and that's about all there is.

the hesitation because of how it makes my blood run cold. the way it clouds up my eyes. the way we hold the world on our tongues or the truth or ourselves. the restraint. the internal fight of the clear outlook and the dooming silence. the way the beast grows inside. the way it /lingers/ over your shoulder. the ache. the way it grips your stomach.

and the regret

the way you miss the beast. the way you miss feeling alone in it's presence. the way you miss it's (my) claws gripping your neck and tongue and spine and brain. and you just want it back . .  .   .    .     .      .

your sweet seductress is spite and fear of the unknown.
I'm here
I'm stuck.
Why have you condemned me to be left as if I am expendable to you?
As if I am expendable.
I am expendable.
Why is it fair that I've become a loss to a bet against a part of yourself that will always win?
Why is it fair that I've become the item between a bet that is cast on something you'll never change?
I see how much (little) I mean to you.

but how dare you?
how do you dare away sentiment to make someone you are trying to free yourself from happy?
Why can't you dare away yourself?
You don't need a **** hand to hold, you just need to be set free.

You just can't see
that to become free
YOU must free yourself.


but you've fallen to your flawed vices again and taken them for virtues.

The scary part about those nights where the voices get too loud is the screaming to yourself in the hope that the demons leave. They scream at me “WHAT’S YOUR PURPOSE” and that I am worthless, but scarier still is when you start to believe them.

to be in love is such a beautiful thing
if you are unafraid of the heartbreak
that is sure to come
one of these days
when the realization that keeping secrets of our
own means that they must have
some secrets they are holding from you on
how they act and they talk when
you’re not around
and it ***** and it hurts
almost as much as when you realize that


being in love can be a beautiful thing
if you don’t mind the occasional
one sided worshipping
on the broken pew of your heart
thinking about the future and the possibility that things might
or will
fall apart


being in love can be a beautiful thing
as long as you’re okay with constant static
lingering in the street light of their love
found flickering directly above the lonely
bench on the corner of melancholy st. where
it’s okay to sit in the haze and in the rain
because you have their love keeping you warm


being in love is nice
if you never mind being a
masterpiece never balanced, some sort
of discord throwing everything off
doomed to a composition but
never remaining composed

being in love is nice if you can love
in the dark because
in the light,
in the light there’s nothing to see
most times
if only a blank gaze at best
but you flip the switch
and love in the dark anyways because you know
it’s what you do best


being in love is alright if the
idea of having them at their worst and
not only at their best doesn’t
scare you too much
because being in love sometimes means
falling in love with them at their worst
and learning to love unconditionally


being in love is alright if
you can learn to treasure the time spent
away from them
knowing that the time apart is what makes
the time together
the sweetest
and that it’s worth it in the end


to be in love is fine
I guess
if at every notion of their success
you feel a happy sadness in your chest-
the happiness for theirs
and the sadness in finding
that the joy you
bring them might be
surpassed and the slightest thought
of that is just enough
to remind you that someday
you could be replaced


but don’t get me wrong,
please don’t get me wrong

to be in love  is to understand that
you’ll never have all of them-
to understand that in the storm of their body
and the nourishment of their breath
must come with the lightning and
maybe that’s why people call people
in love
lovestruck


but hey,

to be in love

to be in love is one of the
most pure things on earth
where the worst part is the innocence
and the best part  is the innocence
and the fragility
and the glow
and the fulfillment
and the loving in the dark
and living in the light

oh, to be in love
is the greatest thing because
somehow
loving a
silent film masterpiece
where their eyes never speak
is all you’ve ever needed

TW; Suicide/self harm



came home,
couldn't deal.
stuck note in envelope,
licked the seal.
placed on the bed,
one last chance to clear the head.
too late.
gather the pills,
enough to make the ****.
dry swallow them all,
crouch against the wall.
slide out the knife,
that’s hidden all through life.
though the tears,
cut away the years,
trim the life strings,
don't feel the stings.
blacking out now,
not knowing how
survival was this long
praying to die.
please don't cry.
it'll be fine.
it'll be better now.
heart slows.
breathing ceases.
I pull you under.
goodnight.

i want to eat my words like pills and stand at death’s door until
i can feel my death approaching me to let me be free from this
endless hunger (that’s) making me sick
I want to be happy again
i want to be free again.

and she was my light
she was my star, and sometimes stars die.
yet when stars die, they become a fountain of new light and color.
and she was my sun
she gave me warmth, she gave me life.
and she was the giver to everyone and their lost souls
because her eyes were my only salvation that banished the evil
and when her fingers brushed against my skin
my fear melted into the oblivion we've starved ourselves into.
and I was not worthy of her love.
and my heart is still cold and
my eyes are still shut behind lenses to dim her light
but why would anyone **** their savior?
forgive me father, I know not what I do.
but her spark is still there
in the midst of it all
a brewing cosmic explosion
a dynamic fusion of all her hurt

I want to do it.
I want to.
I want to do it slowly, and I want to lie on the ground.
I don't want to get up.
I dialed the hotline again only to hang up.
I know I can't because then you would too.
That would be worse.
Your mom and family.
I'm so far away,
it'd barely make a difference.
Why won't you talk to me like you used to.
I'm beginning to think I'm just some sort of
muse to hurt you in small ways that
turn into big ways to
turn into songs for me to
turn over and listen to
while I want to do it.
I want to.
I want to do it slowly, and lie underground.

his caffeine kisses below gray eyes
pulled me out from my body and into the light.
our tongues danced behind our fragile lips and
tiny love bites graced time
marking seconds and our bodies intertwined
lying on a teenager’s bed.
and his arms fit perfectly in the arch of my back
and my arms grasped his shoulders because
he was the only thing I was holding on for.
-

using someone until they put


out





and thinking you're better than you are.





i don't care who's the one thinking it.

How you you know when you’re in too deep?
Is it when you get home and try to sleep,
and the dreams stop tumbling through your mind,
and on the other side,
all of it is dark?
Is it when people try to touch you,
to wake you, because you haven’t moved a muscle in hours,
but your skin just lights on fire where they press their fingertips.
If it is true, and this is what it's like,
than an eternity under the ground is how this must be.
I never had a dreamless sleep,
and now I’m not sure what to be afraid of.
The fact that I wanted to stay there,
In that dark,
With that evil that consumes my mind.
Where the only pain I felt was liberating,
And I could float on. Forever.
Or when I snapped back into the realm of the worldly,
My memories flooded back to me.
Vivid.
Everything perfect, with a cherry on top.
All the people, all the love.
That the sleep I was drowning myself in was temporary
but I wanted it for eternity.
That I chose dark over light.
That’s what death feels like.

When my tears stop falling over the “I’m sorrys”
When you’re asleep and i’m dying to be calling you
When it’s 3am and I haven't slept because I'm dehydrated and craving you
When I can have no worrys and have complete trust
When that ******* pixie dust does it’s job and
When the 11:11 wishes come true
When I don't have to lie awake and alone
When I don't have to shield my heart from destruction
When these walls can fall down
When I can trust in love
When I believe it's enough
When I can hold you
When 100 miles becomes 0
When you see me
When her and I become we
When we can watch the sunset in each other's arms and
When the promises are kept
When I see you
When?

From branches of lilac, the roots of the apple tree, swinging on the tire swing.
Always a square peg in a round hole in the eyes of my papa,
An artist in the eyes of my mom.
An adventurer in the eyes of my grandpa, he’s been navigating the universe for me
all the way from the stars when the cancer took him years too early.
A free spirit  in the eyes of my Gramma, picking apples from the trees and climbing too high.

My GG called me beautiful girl,
then a more beautiful version of herself after the brain stent went in and she forgot how beautiful she was when she was my age and could only tell the same story about the milkshakes in her prom dress.
It’s one of my favorites.
My grandma Wheeze grabbing my cheeks from her walker while lizards crawled outside her house slightly further in from the gulf.
Gumbo and rice in the kitchen, a separate pan of buttered shrimp she’d sneak to me while my siblings were not looking.

The whisk in the drawer where it sits unused since that winter sunday morning walk home.
The tiny clock on the shelf, nostalgic off tempo click, Minnesota evenings. It broke on the move.
Cat Stevens on the ride across the state and into Wisconsin, Bob Dylan on my papa’s guitar in the hot kitchen and the broken clock on the counter.
Gnocchi for dinner, cafe au lait on the porch.
“Basta” mom would say, yet never enough.
An early caffeine addiction.

A tabby cat and an unfortunate end in a risky fight with a squirrel, “Basta”, but never enough.
A calico replacement, a companion to the present.  
Protector of the house when we are away,
Mardi Gras every year, beads adorning the Christmas tree, shifting to the epiphany.
God protecting the house.
French Quarters and VooDoo protecting everything else.
In my blood, I have both.

Somewhere over the rainbow still makes me cry,
Death doesn’t make me cry, only the fact that someone is dead.
Sometimes I don’t see shooting stars and I don’t see the fireflies and I feel abandoned by them.
A broken white chair in the corner of the yard from a night of not feeling enough, “Basta.”


Tire swing no longer on the apple tree, run down trampoline, a broken leg, I never came out to my
GG, she was on her deathbed when I went to tell her and I couldn’t do it.
My grandpa was on his when I feared death last. I’m sorry.

Anxiety coupled with success doesn’t feel like much, maybe that’s why I drink too much coffee.
I’ve gotten better, a family of champs. Loud, passionate, winners.
I’ve stopped living for someone else, I live for myself.
I transcend. I’m Mr. Brightside, I am that chick at that concert, hand on the barricade.
I am a future world changer, I am a drum major, I am an artist, I am love.
I have love.
I am in love.
In this cage some songs are born, I am Bukowski before the alcohol.
I am inside the inkwell of Poe.
I am the verse rewriting itself in Whitman's lines.
I am Emerson when I say good-bye to this proud world.
I am the dew on the edges of Walden within the pages of Thoreau.

I am a poet and every poet all at once.
I am an artist and every artist all at once.
I am positive film, I still keep the negatives, I still develop.


I am a prism, I am a bearer of light.
I am everything.
I am nothing.
I am.

I feel so different,
so out of time.

Good ‘Ol days expire like the milk
in a deadman’s refrigerator.

Time to grow up, time to leave it all behind.
Take this heavy load, 4 years to decide
the rest of my life.

Who will I be?
Do I know?
Do I want to know?
I don't think so….

Not to imply that life is a feast placed directly in front of the eyes
but it shouldn't be designed on the judgement
of a young adolescent who can’t tell love
from lust.

What if I don't want to grow up?
Who will save me?

Where is my Peter Pan?

i no longer write when im sad
because sadness no longer writes for me

sad in a blur in my rear view
now the occasional melancholy dusk

the rear view does not mean as much as my windshield
i drive towards the sunrise

oranges and yellows
blues and pinks

sadness blends now
it is no longer a solid hue

i have love
i have a horizon to drive towards

no matter where it leads
i am driving nonetheless

I keep thinking that the reason I kept waking up that night was to see who it was sleeping next to me. I wanted it to be her, but I knew that was impossible. It was someone else + an invisible divide we were too afraid to break. I woke up much before she did + she looked so peaceful + gorgeous + too pure to be in the space with me. She rose much later + fixed herself up. We laughed a little and looked for a sock she lost underneath my bed. We searched but couldn’t find it. She explained the teas she made + slung her bag over her shoulder. She gave me a hug + then she kissed me. Gently… on the cheek. My heart started racing + I flashed back to December. The kiss on the cheek + then the betrayal. She left as I was living in a dreamscape that frightened me. maybe kisses on the cheek aren’t a good thing for me. They’re tainted with earthly lies.

“You'll feel better in the morning”

Just a reminder that I'm miserable now
spawning reasons not to wake up in the morning.
I don't know how to fix me.
I'm a disappointment,
I make decisions that make other wary of each breathe I take.
I can't figure it out.
The morning is a sick continuation of my idiotic composure of bones and tissue.
my failure to others.

“You'll feel better in the morning”

Empty promises.
As if I can be repaired with a few pieces of tape and a few embraces.
I promised myself with every change
comes a new appreciation
and a dream people will like me.
I guess both that and the statement are wrong.