i have grown tired, of trying to prove you wrong. when you are grey and oppressive, your hands bearing down on my shoulders like a fog. i have grown tired of being right, and tired of being wrong. tired of screaming, and crying, and taking deep breaths to calm down. trying to justify the stars in the sky, or the freckles on my chin. i have grown tired of being sweet, and empathetic, and all the things i pride myself on; worn down all bloody. until there’s just centrifugal force left to hold me together, honestly. maybe i just need to be alone. and hit my pillow, again and again. because it doesn’t make sense, and nothing makes sense. so i fill my brain with knowledge, but it slips like a sieve. have you ever tried to cup water in your hands? i think you have to see to believe. and i can feel the sharp words, sinking like thorns in my tongue. but if you ask, i’ve still got nothing to say.


i’ve never been good at letting go. so i scroll, and i scroll, through hypnotic grids of pretty pictures on my phone. the nausea’s setting in now, and i am all alone, in my room on a monday night, thinking about impractical dreams, and how much i’ve always loved the look of old streetlights.

and now i’m fast asleep in the middle of the day, staring blankly at a computer screen, with nothing left to give. begging for words to trickle out of a rusty faucet, with the same song on loop, because if i just hear this chorus one time more, i swear it’s gonna come to me. it’s all gonna get better.

but it doesn’t, obviously. as could be expected. and i’ve got no one but myself to blame for this, and when i blame myself, i hate myself, right down to my core.

i’m not a perfect person, in any stretch of those words. i’ve got a lot to figure out. and now every day, i’m this close to just setting it all aflame. because i’m no better than anyone else, and those simple words have the potential to destroy me, in a single blow.

so with wilting fingertips, i stare you down across the road. i meet you right in the fucking eye, and i hold my ground. i’m not letting this drought take me down–not after how far i’ve come.

so if i go down, i’ll go down kicking, and screaming. you better believe i’m putting up a fight. i’ll make a mess on the pavement, and murmur broken stanzas into the night, and they’ll be mangled like the rest of me, tired and bleeding and covered in dust. but they’re there, and i think maybe, they’re a bit better then last time. and that’s progress.

so tomorrow morning, i’m gonna wake up at seven thirty. i’m gonna drag myself out of bed to turn off my alarm, take a shower, eat some breakfast, and turn on my phone. i’ll try my best, to sort these lines into some kind of logic or purpose. and then, maybe i’ll go on a walk, or study for a test. or write some more. we’ll see.

and i know things kinda suck right now. but i’m not giving up that easily.

blood moon

the suburban lull slithers down my thighs. shattered dreams, shitty motels. broken teeth and downcast eyes. i want you to know you’re worth more what you give to other people, all right?

you don’t have to play dumb. don’t have to blink innocently. and no matter how they word it, you don’t owe it to anybody.

not the blood moon, clawing its way down the sky. not the parched book pages. not the twinkle in his eye. you are the aurora borealis; a thousand watercolour shades, bleeding down the sky….

lead blankets. a fuzzy guitar riff. and oh, sweetheart tell me why. tell me how you suck in your stomach, how you keep your head down. how you give up so completely…

welcome to the land of the reckless and the brave. where dreams go to die.