Sep 22, 2014
9 notes
the-blonde-assassin asked: Your poetry is a breath of fresh air. I'm so sorry that you're hurting, but you speak about it so beautifully. That's one thing that always struck me about being a poet. The normal eye sees depression, but the literary eye sees this great, unchained madness.

I’m posting this publicly because this is one of the kindest things anyone has said about my work in a long time. I’m very glad you enjoy it. I work very hard on developing clarity and meaning out of the muck that is my thoughts.

Sep 21, 2014
7 notes
I’m going to start uploading 60D shoots on my Instagram so it’s gonna get way better. Let’s follow each other!

I’m going to start uploading 60D shoots on my Instagram so it’s gonna get way better. Let’s follow each other!

Sep 21, 2014
13 notes

I’ve been getting healthier. I’m eating again. Haven’t thrown up anything in a few days. The loud tenor note of stress has quieted somewhat. This is all good news. It seems, for now, the worst of it is over.

I feel as though I am returning from war. Every day, I am capable of a few minutes more genuine happiness. For the most part, things feel hollow. I walk outside and the air is cooling. I can fit comfortably in small t-shirts now. I have shrunk.

I wonder, sometimes, if the silence ending would even help. 2014 has been built to teach me to survive. It has pushed me to my breaking point. Past it. I stumbled home last night, drunk and high, and the streets were empty. I wanted a car to hit me again. Why?

I think I keep digging to see how little I need. How horrific shit can get for me. To prove that I can still get up, that I don’t need what I want.

I don’t need happiness to survive. I don’t need safety. I don’t need stability or hope. I can press on through the goddamn darkness.

Sep 20, 2014
7 notes

I hate “universal truth” jokes. Like those really sweaty red-faced white dudes in polos stand up with solo cups of beer and say something like “Women, huh??” And “I’m a guy! You know, you know, what being a guy is, come on.” It’s that like water cooler boring ass talk that people make everywhere in America and it is so boring I could run my head over with a bmx bike.

Sep 20, 2014
8 notes

i have forgotten the easy ways to breathe.
they tell me i am not the same. i know this.
i know that this me is not the best me.
the beautiful song inside me has gone quiet.
my body expects me to keep moving.

i am beginning the see the sun and moon
moving together in the sky. it is an illusion
of perspective, but so is everything.
i laugh black smoke. i cut the night
like construction paper.

Sep 19, 2014
25 notes
I’m a big fan of the King.

I’m a big fan of the King.

Sep 18, 2014
11 notes

There is a beast in the night sky. He knows what must be known about this hour: we have chosen nothing, our bodies are becoming weak. There is a guttural sound from outside my periphery: he is laughing. I join him. It begins to rain, a dense cascade splitting open the sky. I ask him about the day that I will die.

For a moment, behind the tree-line, I believe that I can see him. He is darkness, farther than the darkness that we know, a knife-mark cutting through the page. His voice is like a whisper, but each syllable feels like universal law.

You are already dying, he speaks. You are already rotting.

The rain is a thunder all its own, smashing down on southern pavement, drowning deep the cracks, the little lives of moths and ants extinguished by the flood. 

Sep 17, 2014
12 notes

This brick & green city
may just be my dog-porch,
it may just be the scissors
to my loom.

Moth-clouds save me
from the church bell cries,
save me from the yellow
of the night.

Sep 16, 2014
11 notes

I post a selfie with a caption about this weird anxiety sickness thing I’ve been having. It gets reblogged by guysidfuck.(com) with the caption replaced by the website URL. Brilliant.

Sep 16, 2014
59 notes
I held down a sandwich. Almost threw up, but didn’t. Progress, hahahaha.

I held down a sandwich. Almost threw up, but didn’t. Progress, hahahaha.

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