*Hiatus* 11/20/2017- 1/4/2018

I’ll be back next year. Going to be getting my life together.

If you ever need anything, leave a message here or on my other social media and I’ll respond when my break is over.

See you soon.





The Oracle’s Metamorphosis

I don’t feel like a human much anymore.
An empty that has become so familiar one would think you were always this way.
Not a single care to finish what I start because I learned that all ends the same.
Is this depression? Is this enlightenment?
I do not feel concerned, feeling very little as I write.
Not a word moves me, not a tear quakes me.
I stare forward, blank, and mildly irritated.
Do not wrap your arms around me in pity, do not rub my back and say you love me. I do not want love; I find no solace in your words of affection.
I desire only shallow things now, my dreams now a dress I have packed at the bottom of a chest and hid in the attics of my mind.
On the exhale, I feel solid, just as I do on the inhale.
No visions when I close my eyes, no pleasure envelops me as I smile.
I’m so small.
Like a child in the palm of a hand, curling up close, trying to stay warm.
I am the Eskimo, alone in their hut, wrapped tight in animal skins, knees pulled to my chest.
The world is but a rose petal held to the light, veins and intricacies with an opaque shield behind, hiding a word I will never quite know.
And I stare blankly at the world before me, unphased by it’s detail, taken aback by its predictability.
I take my pairs of hands up to my ears, my mouth, and my eyes, cloaking all in voluntary night.
And with that, a grin carves into my stomach and opens wide to laugh grimly.
I stifle a chuckle at its absurdity and we both embrace ignorance as one being.


Do you live past the cosmos
Where flowers bloom from deer antlers
Where the veins in your arms turn green with envy at the sight of a brighter star
Breathe in the dust of afterlife
And cough out the sparkling ooze used to make the planets spin forever?
Are your wounds as fragrant as roses
Your tears and cries as empty and sweet as blown sugar
Are you as amorphous as the dream I had last night?
Your friends, do they look like me at all
Like us, like someone worth talking to and spending all of eternity with?
I don’t know.
I don’t know where you are, or how you look, or what you think.
Most of all, I don’t know if you’re real.
But…if you are…
Won’t you please send out your prettiest shooting star?

I don’t need a fucking therapist

I only find solace in the deep repertoires and intricate folds of my bygone brain
I like to curl up like a pillbug and feel my breath, shaky, blow down my calves and thighs, leaving trickles of condensed sweat after the 34th exhale
My dreams are empty, when I finally shut my left side down, because the right has been hammered and tinkered and tossed into an alley more times than I can count
For this and for that, pertains to what, when and, why…
People make no sense to me as they question the asphalt and the dirty gray skies in hopes of tearing the dark apart with their endless inquiries
I watch these silly scholars and gold-trimmed caps go about, rushing, with expensive silken robes and half-chipped spectacles
Rolls of scrolls and skull-thick books spewed across the floor and in their hands, their clean, silken, soft white hands
I wonder, too, what they find solace in, always running about like that
But in the pit of my ignorance, I feel no need for answers, I am safe
I feel nothing but dark and cool air with my hot breath and the sound of my incessant heart beating
Here, I am well-kept. Here, I am relaxed
For I only find solace in the deep repertoires and intricate folds of my long-dead, bygone brain.

I am the Wind.

I am the wind.

They all know I have many I love.

As I dance through their hair.

And whisper sweet-nothings into their ears.

For only a moment, we are close, we are one.

Until I leave them breathless, reaching out with mouth agape before their arms slowly fall back to their sides.

They know I have an agenda, a life not subservient to theirs.

A life of adventure and rush and joy and I will not wait for no one.

So all they have left is to smile at our memories, a mutual understanding.

And on certain blustering days, I find my way back to their hair.

And decorate it with tangles of sweet, fickle memory.


She soft like the sheets beneath my skin so I press my face into her and breathe her in
Intoxicating, so damn invigorating
My fingers fly into a frenzy with a desire to dig deep into her sides and hear her squeal
To feel her beneath me, squirming under my grip
The light of the window pane shining sharp into her bloodshot eyes
Tears and snot and purple lips
I bury my face into her chest and look up into her eyes.
She’s crying, god she’s crying.
Sobbing between gasps of anesthesia, eyes rolling back, struggling to stay awake.
And I fucking love it.


Like slivers cut from soft soap moons
Shower down like the gentlest of hail
Lightly flickering eyes, fireflies, fire dies
To breathe past the smoke and contamination
A flutter of fear is born within the sleeping, heaving chest of the dreaming
I cannot venture past the hazy woods for nothing is what lies past
Eyes yellow, green, black, blue
Bruises on my heart, mud on your shoe
Hold me tight, o’ strange foreign god
And let me unfold the cloth bound tight ’round your eyes
Crave and carry, a corpse box upon me
You are the sullen, silent breath that hurts me so
I desire nothing but to crush your heart and soul, but wander here no longer
Goodnight moon, goodnight stars
Goodnight Venus, goodnight mars
Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight

Autumn: Soft Wake Ups

Magic things like cinnamon spells and sugared witch’s kisses that decorate your head and neck and ankles
Like little pools of pristine water lakes dusted with specks of golds and coppers and deep, burning reds
Hands wrapped in knitted ribbons, mingling their warmth with crisp, cool air, cheeks blotted bright red with the last of summer’s readied roses
Billowing gusts and whispering drafts that make their way through the window and past the house, carrying an air of memory on their lips
How the world dances sweetly under the soft glow of the sugar moon, sweeping the ends of her day and night dress over the sky with every spin and step and graceful twirl
The sun is but a visitor here, watching impatiently as the fog and ice and stillness clasp their hands together and frolic lightly onto the tips of fingertips and noses
Midnight hours and fairy-tales and desires to kiss the moon bless the dreams of all who listen very closely
Warm and wholesome meals to eat, hearty suppers and plump, soft sweets fill the bellies of the happy and the joyful, the plucky and the merry
And so like little pools of pristine water lakes, a glimmering time is born into the hands of dreamers all alike in smile and thought
With magic things like cinnamon spells and witch’s kisses to plague you gently in the kindest way during every autumn night and every autumn day


My mind feels like a glitch
A mess of noise and static
A numbness that spreads to my hands and legs
A dryness of the throat, saliva in the windpipe
the ends of my skin breaking up into sea-foam
My inner core like molten Lava, feeding off any feeling left to stay alive
But there’s nothing left and it hurts so bad
To have the flames feed off the walls of my brain, making my head itch and eyes twitch  like crazy
On the brink of sheer madness, so potent and pure
I relish in my tears that drown my volcanic heart
And whisper to myself, crazed, dazed
As I rock on my bed
More bits becoming sea-foam
Fingernails falling off
My mind become tangles of color and sound, melting like it’s on acid
Every part, every piece and organ, skin and muscle feels like it’s melting
But my throat stays dry
No matter how much water pours from my pores and back into the sea from which it came
I can’t speak a word
Because I have nothing left to say, what’s the point of speaking when everything stays the same.

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