type of boy: tastes lightly of wintre and cigarette smoke, but mostly of a deep-seated passion that is littered with things he rarely shares.

the lesions have eliminated the ability of my hands and knees to feel the difference between broken bottles, shattered hearts, pieces of bathroom tile. but was there really anything to distinguish them in the first place and there are times when i would die just to be a lightbulb, to illuminate people's lives without having to speak or feel pain, except for the burn of giving your life for people to see each others lips to kiss and to read what is going on in the world.


every evening you torture yourself spewing and spitting your pain into a bottle, because you refuse to allow the words of your excruciation to enter the world. darling, you cannot keep them bottled up forever. i dont think you understand that your pain has been here already, and it will continue to be so until the end of time. it was born when Eve sank her teeth into the Forbidden Fruit and opened the gates of Limbo where Disease and Death reigned supreme. their children escaped and ran into the world to ravage it and they live off of our refusal for comfort, our prideful need to "be strong" when truthfully you will find your release in humility and openness. your throat may fill with a conglomeration of everything that needs to spill but if you just release a drop at a time you will be only watering flowers that were so desperate to live. let the flowers grow inside you and root themselves in your soul. keep watering them. do not waste the water and leave it in the bottle. allow the waterfall to nourish the life within you and become better and stronger. do not keep caged a beast that will only ravage you, not build you up.