Simply me and my musings


I am growing within myself. A shy seed beneath the soil that I have carefully tended to, I feel excitement for every tendril that reaches out from the dark pod, every root that gently takes hold. It is slow, but it is growth. It is hope. And yet, because no one else can see it, to others it does not exist. All they see is dirt, barren and plain. It’s exhausting, having everyone whisper into the cracks bloom, bloom! They have no idea how hard I am trying.

June Gloom

June Gloom hit my garden in the heat of noon. I had managed through winter and thought that I had escaped my demon’s cold embrace and was not prepared to feel the heat of his touch. Who knew blue could be so warm. The sorrow hung in the air like a heavy humidity and weighed down every sprout I had so carefully cared for. The flowers that desperately thirsted for the sky fell limp on the ground. I have never seen petals such a lifeless hue. Such fragile, tended to blooms were no match for the viscous familiarity. Any attempt I made to water them and bring them back to life was in vain, it is the weeds who would drink it up greedily. They begged to drown in it so they could take deeper root. It was as if I was growing backwards, regressing. It’s strange to have a pain so friendly, and yet the thorns that began to grow and tear up this soil like a predator tears its prey’s flesh felt well deserved and I didn’t mind bleeding to feed it. They say you reap what you sow, but I have already worked tirelessly in this field with little grown to sustain this weary heart. Perhaps I am that which needs to be reaped. I have killed every seed I have touched and destroyed everything I tried to care for. I always knew I didn’t have a green thumb. I cannot keep things like hope and faith and happiness alive within myself. I am so tired in this heat. The constant weight is killing me. Maybe the only way I will have a garden at last is to bury it all, past, present, and future. With no more night and no more day I could finally rest; my flowers would look better on a grave anyway.

Who Are You?

God, I wish I knew. Sometimes I see the way my hand trembles and it doesn’t even feel like my own. I had lived over a decade knowing exactly who I was within my small world of ignorance, but as soon as I stepped beyond that horizon I fell off the edge of that world into an abyss. I do not know who I am. I could tell you what I’ve done in my life thus far; my actions, their consequences, events that changed me. I could tell you who I think I am: a warped beast that reeks of sulfur and self loathing, a pile of rotting flesh looking for a way to move on from this earth, the human embodiment of Pandora’s box. I could tell you who I’ve been for him and her and all the others, who it is others have mistook me for, all the times they thought I was a cure when I was really the poison. I could tell you all of this, but none of it tells you who I am anymore than it tells me. They are all just pieces to a greater puzzle. I have dissected every part of myself over and over again; tearing myself down piece by piece and over analyzing every thought, every detail, like a painful game I take sick delight in. I have looked at the universe in its vastness and tried to find my place of existence in the void. I feel I am an unmarked grave and everyone wonders what type of skeletons will lie within my coffin, what it will be that kills me, and what few words will embody everything I am in stone. My soul is restless for answers and haunts this earth with the very same questions. My life is ruled by these thoughts of the infinite possibilities before me and these questions I cannot stop asking. I suppose who we are is determined by every experience, emotion, movement, thought, action, and consequence in our lives and cannot be truly gauged in its totality until death. When someone asks who you are, you can only ever tell them who you are in that exact moment you are living, but in the next, it will change. With so many variables in our lives, so many things left unknown, we are constantly growing and morphing. Only Death can offer who you are and the promise of relief in exchange for a simple kiss.

So do not ask me who I am, for I am constantly someone else growing into someone else while yearning to be someone else. Wait until I have made my deal with the devil, I promise my eulogy will be a much easier read.


There is such a desperation within me that I can never quiet; a deep hatred for my own existence, a need for the end of it. One day I will give in and it will finally all be quiet.

Piece of Mind

I abandoned something long ago

A piece of my mind

A part of my soul

Once an easy careless daze

I’m lost within this haze

Trapped in my ways


I’ve tried to kill my demons

But I’m nothing without them

We were once friends

They made me who I am

I can’t escape their grasp

A prisoner to debts of my past


Struggling to move forward

When I can only see behind

Am I too far gone within this darkness

Or am I merely blind?

I’m just trying to find

My peace of mind


I did what I had to survive

To keep breathing

I let a part of me die

Now I weep at its grave

Wish to once again feel alive

But all I feel is dead inside


I’ve tried to shake this sickness

To leave all I’ve known

But I’m stuck in its hold

And it won’t let me go

Like quicksand ever time I rise

Slowly I’m pulled back down below


My sanity is Hell’s permanent guest

My soul damned to lie in bitter unrest

Consumed by this darkness

Lost and blind

Hopelessly searching for

My piece of mind


have you ever showered because you hate crying and have no where else to fall apart quietly without anyone knowing have you turned the shower on as hot as it will go to try and burn your demons away have you sat under the scorching water pulling your knees to your chest as tightly as you can hoping if you make yourself small enough you will vanish  have you found yourself whispering visciouly “I just want to disappear” in a plea almost like a prayer to any diety that might take pity on you and grant your wish have you envisioned the water swallowing you whole or running an angry red or full of powder as a few stray pills disintegrate and fade as you wish to have you wanted to leave everything and everyone in any way possible but you can’t escape fast enough have you felt so stuck within yourself that you turn on yourself and find the only place to hide is further within so you run and run deeper and deeper until you are a small speck of consciousness within the vast darkness and suddenly the water is no longer hot and the tears no longer fall and you sit in utter silence with your eyes closed and head on your knees numb to everything but the water falling on you like rain

Dark Vision

You’re wasting your love

Wasting your breath

I’m too far gone

Within this sick mindset


I’ve tried to find love for this skin

Yet I only find loathing, sorrow, and pain

How could someone ever love something so vacant?

Of everything good I’m suddenly undeserving

My mind is shrouded by a  selective mist

Darkness creeps silently into my vision

I wake up and hate myself for it

Wishing I would have never risen


You’re wasting your love

Wasting your breath

I’m too far gone

Within this sick mindset


I am not enough, not right for you

And though I try I never will be

Better options lie at your fingertips

Don’t settle for less than you deserve

I am an illusion of ideal, an idea you augment

But I will come up short without fail

My burden will grow heavier until you’re left

With only regret and disappointment


You’re wasting your love

Wasting your breath

I’m too far gone

Within this sick mindset


You might think you are in love me

But you’ll find it merely a passing infatuation

One day you will laugh at the thought of

Having ever been able to belive otherwise

And I will drown in bittersweet relief

Knowing you will have finally realized

You’re better off, as all are,

With anyone but me


Mirror Image

Fucked up, disgusting, rotting mess

Gnarled hands tug at too much flesh

A heavy heart hurts from love’s slow beating

Lungs burn at the accusation of breathing

If only I could eradicate my existence

Greatest Enemy, Dearest Friend

Staring into the mirror I see my greatest enemy, my dearest friend, hating every inch of skin, carefully trying to make amends. I hold others like newborn swallows yet do not know how to speak gently to the child beneath my own ribs. I stifle its cries, point out every flaw, tear through flesh with my eyes; I guess that makes me abusive. But words don’t leave bruises and though self loathing hurts, the pain is easier to bear when I know I deserve it. To push myself over the brink so that I might drown and sink to my lowest is somewhat of a comfort. Knowing things can’t get worse and that I couldn’t feel any more hurt than this is the only way to escape. Running is so tiring, my sorrow so alluring; to lie and die with Misery once again is the easiest way to stop feeling.

I think I was made to disappear. I cannot stay in one place too long before I begin to lose all I dare hold dear and fade from the world. It is not that I wish to let go, to die, I simply despise being alive, if I could only cease to exist…how soothing it would be to quietly slip into the night. Living in a dark void sounds rather pleasant; to float in nothingness, rather divine. My bones feel hollow– they echo and ache. This body is made up of odds and ends and expectations, with nothing being truly my own. There is no piece of me I love and yet every inch, I loathe. This heart has never felt the peace of a home. I fear I will never belong to anyone for too long; holding onto a ghost is no easy task, I hear. I try my best to put my demons to sleep so that I might not fear loving deeply, but they escape my grasp and remind me how lovely it is to be lonely. I am fading again.

I had learned how to live with my sorrows– I can feed my demons just long enough to sate their appetite, just long enough to hurt just right. Flirting with Misery has made it such an easy lover to run back to when I can no longer fight to keep breathing in life. Being dead inside was the only way I could survive drowning, but now I’m dry and I’ve forgotten how to be alive. My lungs are exhausted, heaving oxygen when they had grown used to water. My body feels heavy on this dry land after floating for years through the trenches of the sea. If only others could see what I see, just how disgusting this rotting embodiment of flaws can be; perhaps then they would realize they do not love me after all. I can hardly withstand being with me, myself, and I. I am the heaviest burden I bear. How could anyone else live with a pile of despair and call it beautiful? How could they sense such a sickness within and proclaim their love? I do not belong amongst the living. I do not belong by anyone’s side. I am an excess burden to bear, I beg you, hold me no longer for your own sake. I would rather tell you the mistake that I am before you waste your time. I’d rather you cast me aside now with pain in your eyes than later with a familiar look of regret and disappointment.


Always aware of this desperate need

for that which I can never name.

A constant panic inside my chest

that I can neither soothe nor tame.


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