you are in these bones, but they are not you.
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getting what i want
the only thing my brain wanders to is fucking him. i don’t even want to write about it, i don’t want to make art, i want to climb him like a tree and swallow him whole from the top down. how is this the only thing i’m good at? the only thing fingers and tongue Read more
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dead creatives club
been thinking a lot lately about creativity. how mine dried up over the last few years and how hollow i have rung in its absence. there’s so much life in these days its hard to hear, but the bellow has been deepening. i feel the pull again, something in the deepest recesses clawing its way Read more
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this is not writing.
you’re running laps through the labyrinth, grinding the mirrors beneath your feet to bloody powder i think that’s part of the problem i have. i don’t want to. lol i don’t want to, ever. will it make more sense if i do? yes, of course. more power, more potency per syllable if slip it to Read more
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Those old bones.
I understand the obvious hubris and absurdity of posting this shit here, but I want it somewhere accessible. Read more
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A lesson of adolescence.
I knock when I fly under yellow lights, remembering long limbs and the secrets of a girl who was never mine. I don’t wonder if you think of me, I don’t think of you as something complete. I’ve mutilated the memory (a loving process, I promise), removing the humanity and fixing the Saint into the Read more
let me sow that i may reap 