can I be resurrected? has my soul died?
Is this revolution or the dark times?
does the universe know? tell me what I think I know so it can go down the drain, flushed away,
and “so it goes” always remains
in my mind
but does it? I’ve collected so much stuff now I hide
this face is stone no matter where you mine
lately there’s no glitter, no shine
chewing on my own bones, bathing in formaldehyde


I am emerging from my writers block

I have burnt out of love and
I am so hot that I have fried
I’m tired of myself and the lies
I’ve been telling myself to survive
My eyes are sunken
We drunkenly
Sealed our fate
Congealed in time
We shared a space
But we’ve been past late
I think of you,
Soft black lace
Flowers growing from your face
I’d like to think that we’ll meet again
But in this life we were too late

oil spill



not my photo

Like a chemical spill in the water, I am a disease to the earth, but boy do I make it pretty! Like an oil spill on the concrete you walk over with your feet. you know it’s bad, but you can’t help but look at it. The way that all the pretty colors melt together like an abstract painting. When I paint, I put the colors together in all the right ways, and you just wish you understood that, but you don’t.

You’ve heard that there is beauty in tragedy and your cliché just like whoever told you that. All I know is tragedy and it is the farthest thing from beautiful. Some damage is irreversible, and the earth still cries and so do I. Not every painting is meant to be beautiful, and neither am I. I am struggle. I am hardship and resilience, I am neither tragic nor beautiful.

I am open to your interpretation but you’re always a bit off… you are always guessing as to what I’m really trying to say, and I guess what I’m really saying is that to you, I’m like the rat in your laundry room- and you’re starting to think that you really should have bought poison. you’re going to exterminate me but you’re not looking forward to it… Does that make sense? What I’m trying to say is that I don’t have to make sense to you, you’re going to say I’m wrong anyways.

You didn’t even give me a second glance, you say “I’ve always had good judgement.” I say, you see what you want to see, especially when you’re looking at me. You have a flair for the dramatic, you love a good tragedy. Thoughts transform gold into lead, you would say this is alchemy; but it’s chemistry you fucking pseudo-science motherfucker.  It wouldn’t be like you to take responsibility. You’re the catalyst causing your own reaction, you have more control than you think.

We are toxic, and we made it this way. 60 degrees on a winter day. The earth cries as we say, “this almost makes global warming okay.”


present tense

I would have loved to blame everything on myself,

just because you told me to,

but it has gotten to the point where I need you to stop talking because your words are clouding what I see


For some reason you tell yourself that

each time it’s said more loudly

All I know is that if you were right you wouldn’t need to yell

I would hear you in the silence


The child within me resists with fierce opposition

This is a revolution of mind

This is an uprising


I was never fully responsible for everything, but I carried it anyways

and now I shed unnecessary weight to find strength you didn’t want me to realize


I am my own creation, and I am endlessly creating the future as I am becoming myself

true self expression is art

this balance between creativity and lucid consciousness


my essence flows and I direct it where it needs to go

without resistance keeping me in place



It seems like in life I’m constantly undergoing metamorphosis- always transforming before your eyes until you don’t recognize my form. Lately what was once plump is weaning, the bottom of my shoe is peeling and I can feel the concrete. When I talk you’re like, “what?” and I’m starting to realize it’s not me, it’s you.
You wouldn’t be able to understand because you don’t want to.

I’m stuck in traffic because you’re always under construction and I’m always waiting for the summer to end only to realize it’s just begun.

It’s only just begun- and every day is a new beginning I’m not sure that I’m ready for. I’m undressing without a change of clothes- I’m naked and vulnerable. Your hands touch me but I feel nothing..

Nothing at all. I feel for something pure and all I feel is the grainy feeling of dirt between my finger tips. Who knows what is real- who is to say what is and what isn’t? Who really knows?

All I know is that I’m starting to lose touch and I escape to where my dreams feel more like reality. I hold on to the edge of my seat in suspense- hoping I won’t fall off.

Hoping I won’t fall off.. but I’m running in circles and I’m trying to stop- this momentum has me spinning and my dizzy eyes see fractals where order should be. but it’s only just begun-

it’s only just begun.. and I’m nauseous. My insides turn and stomach acid dissolves whats left until there is nothing but damaged stomach lining..
Nothing left.. And it’s only just begun-

It’s only just begun.. And dear god I’m holding on-

I’m holding on to nothing but my own grip.

Do you think a caterpillar recognizes itself after it has become a butterfly? Who really knows?



“time waits for no one”


Who knows what I’ll become after this and who knows if I’ll change for the better. Who knows where I’m going if I’m not leading the way. Zombified and tongue tied; I’m stagnant and I can’t move my body but I am pulled forward by vibrations and electricity. it’s moving through my body like I’m so functional, I am the fucking function. What time is it? I’m standing here going through the motions, standing at the bus stop and I don’t really know what day it is or where I’m going but I’m here, waiting.