If i let you look around,
Let you take a peek inside.
Let you break down my walls,
And take a walk through my mind.

Would you hold it all against me,
Would you blame me for it all?
For every cry and every scream,
For the bloodstains on the walls?

Or would you look away,
Just pretend you didnt see?
Try to forget the terrible sights,
To forget what i might be?

i know im not the best,
and I know my souls not clean.
but maybe if you stayed,
you could help set my mind free.

what a bed to inhabit in
when the illness strikes the body
there’s no caring mother to nurse the health back.
what a bed i set up
a sunken-in *****
a ***** to sink in until the seasoned chill sickens the soul.
there’s a body next to me, but he lays still, rarely speaks a word
and when he does,
the answer does not find him.
i lay in wonder all night long until the moonlight dwindles
and the sun starts singing its choruses.
the body beside me, he listens,
until my swimming legs cast him aside,
the noise drowns out in this swimming pool cage.
every sorrow that has laid claim on my terrain
every dagger pointed and aimed at my skull
is digging itself into the mattress.
i just sit and wallow
on the sinking bed
and the boredom teems until the man beside me
starts sweating.
i have to throw the sheets off and sob and carry on until the morning comes.
again and again

Being cheated on hurts. So. Bad. 


The way I loved before, I know I’ll never be able to get back to that point ever again.

My sense of self worth has gone down, I now question my trust in my own intuition, and my hurt feels like a pain I’ve never felt before.


“I’m so glad I never have to worry about him.” 


Something I used to always tell my mom and friends.

I always thought his love for me would overpower his desire for other women. I was so wrong. 


I felt stupid. I felt played. 


I’d had opportunities to do him as ***** (if not dirtier) than he did me. I didn’t partake in those opportunities because I felt like our love was so pure and I didn’t want to be the one to ruin something so beautiful.

I was wrong. 
I felt embarrassed. I felt ashamed. 


While I was sick, I thought he was being true to me. I fantasized about having his kids upon healing. I thought our love grew stronger because he was there for me at my lowest.

I was wrong.


Instead, he was spending time and money - something we both felt we had such little of- on someone else.

I feel hurt. I feel unsafe. 


I don’t trust the same way I used to. I don’t look at him the same way I used to. I don’t have “forever” hopes like I used to.


Hopefully someday I’ll heal.

But for now, my heart hurts.

I’ll never be the same.

The blue dust of death
Lingers by your elbows
A skeleton in a t-shirt
Who insists he isn’t hungry
Who insists he doesn’t deserve
The dust used to sit around you in big puffs
Blown in fresh from the latest round of chemo
Now it swirls by your ears
Seeps at your nail beds
Swishes in the wispy little hair you have left
Now we’re doing the natural method
Many methods exist
And we’ve chosen one with good results
From a friend of a friend
She had three lumps in her breast and now they’re all gone
So now we talk to the good dr Valentina
Who answers questions and tells us what to do
And you are awake for all of it
You are not lost in a stupor of narcotics
Lost in the brain slickening wash of chemo
Lost in a stupor of alcohol
Lost in a rise of vivid emotions like rage and shame
Lost in the waves of the Holy Ghost
No, no you are here
In the stillness, in the quiet morning
In the house with your worried wife
Your worried daughters
With yourself
You are awake, conscious
Making these healthy, guided, slow, steady, daily choices
You’re surrendering consciously
And it’s hard
You’re present with your demons
And it’s hard
Maybe you see the blue dust of death
And maybe since your eyes are now clear
Maybe you think it’s new
Maybe you think it’s worsened and not lessened
You know so little, dad
You know about submarines, trains, fear, National Geographic, how to give a cutting death stare, how to starve your body, how to dehydrate, how to laugh off the pain of a friends wife, how to to convert someone to our lord and savior Jesus Christ in a broom closet, how to make a savage dog submit, how to provide for a family for 20 years, how to leave your young children, how to not care, how to brush it off, how to hide your drinking, how to lie, how to inquire, how to shame, how to apologize
Some of these skills are new and I’m grateful for them
And now you are learning how to live, blue dust of death and all

I wish there was something supernatural
Like a ghost that exists
Or a god up above
Or aliens
Or anything
Faeries and magic and dreams
Just something
so this whole ******* thing
doesn’t seem so mundane
What a
******* boring world
we live in
with its intricacies and economics
and evil and greed
no hero’s or heroines
Just sandwiches and dope
And taxes
what a joke
How did we come to exist
And not just survive
but thrive
By playing tricks on ourselves
Like paying to live,
when we can just do that For free
I guess the fee
is so that we don’t
have to try so hard,
but then why is it so ******* hard?

{He types this into a 5-year old iPhone [which he resents(for various reasons, like how addicted he is to it And how it’s function is diminishing, because it’s older) which is basically modern magic, alchemy at the very least], ignoring the technological marvel In his hand that provides everything he needs for modern assimilation, but he just wishes it wasn’t still in his hand}

May 17th 2024 7:18am

People stopped asking how I was
Stopped caring about my pain
Stopped caring when I fell to the floor
Stopped pitying me
Stopped hanging out with me
People got tired of me being sick
They acted like i wasn’t tired of it too

Four years elapsed,
Since the world collapsed,
And I still can’t delete it,
Delete it from my head.

The concrete impaction,
One solitary action,
From able to chained,
Chained to his deathbed.

And I’m disturbed by the memories,
Sad for the suffering–

                For his suffering,
                For their suffering,
                For the collective rippling of suffering…

Tragedy inspires, I’m told,
But its message is lost upon me,
Blurred in darkness,
A stop-motion picture,
Haunting me, frame by frame.

Homing in on this harrowing loss,
I find my focus will never sharpen,
Just like he will never come back,
And so, I’m left fixating on that which
I can neither fully remember nor fail to forget.

I flew to Chicago last Friday night
my great uncle was turning a hundred.
The plan was to fly-in Friday, party Saturday,
and fly out Sunday. No missed school.

The air felt colder in Chicago, the wind really bit,
and the sun seemed to be at an odd angle.
We stopped by the beach of a lake so large
that there were waves breaking on the beach.
The party was great. EVERYONE was there.

But then there was the choreography of luck.
I woke up sick Sunday morning - really sick -
deathly sick, you know the drill, weak
like my muscles were falling off my bones.
At 8am Charles called - I should have met him.
I couldn’t lift the phone - I poked the button.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I told him before falling back asleep.
KLUNK I heard my hotel room door open, it was Charles.
He came in looking like he expected a threat.

I could only open my eyes for a second.
“I’ve GOT it,” I told him, (not knowing what ‘it’ was)
“Get out, save yourself.”
So went Sunday and Monday - I didn’t eat or drink.
Charles canceled flights, extended hotel room bookings,
and the car rental. Finally, Tuesday morning, he said,
“I think you’d better try.” So somehow, we flew and we made it.

There was a famous football player across the aisle from me
He’s retired now, like all of my heroes - Brady, Manning.
He played for the Ravens, I’d hated the ravens, I’d hated him,
the way you hate someone just because they’re great
but they play for the other team. I didn’t tell him, and sadly,
I didn’t warn him that I might just throw up on him (I was masked).
Charles bought me one of those horseshoe pillows and I passed out.

Before I knew it I was back in the dorm.
Being sick and helpless, away from the comforts of home is the worst.
I’ll have to remember that - someday - If I’m a doctor.