Fever Dream

I'm having one of those days.

Nah.  I shouldn't preface this in such a manner, as if days like this are typical for me because they most certainly are not.  I'm having a day.

In the Woods

Thought I'd try my hand at horror.  Not sure if I'll finish this or not.  Maybe someday.

The Tap Drips

It's a sad life
but it's a life
and I suppose
that's all that matters.

After 10

The Raven and the Swallow

Sleek, gunmetal night; that’s you.  Glossy on the surface like swank clubs with flashing lights, thumping bass and neon shots of booze, but you’re just a little more dangerous than that, aren’t you?  And a bit more exciting if we’re being honest here.  For all your flash, all that bravado, what lies beneath is something sharper and more calculating than any other 20-something socialite could ever hope to compete with.  You’re the dark corners, harboring ecstasy and sex and glowing cigarettes so near to where everyone is laughing and living.  You can fit in so well with them, when you dance and the sweat slips down the side of your neck.  Part of me thinks there really is nothing deadly about you.  I’m safe with you.

Maybe I’m not, though.  The night likes its secrets.

Letters to My Love (an excerpt)

May 30th, 2013

Words can't describe the guilt.  Incidentally, you've sucked every word from me; I have none.

It's your one-year anniversary and all I've done is gotten drunk.  I haven't spoken of you, haven't sang your greatness, haven't dedicated a single word to you, all I've done is bless your memory with whiskey.  I say that I'll write about you, for you, that I'll spit it out and get it down on paper or a bright screen, vomit up these feelings into somewhat pretty words but it never happens.  When I'm sober the pain from remembering you is too much, and when I'm drunk I lose all ambition and go until I pass out.  So I let it eat at me, munch away at my heart, my lungs, my brain, my tongue, the tips of my fingers and the roots of my hair.  I don't care if your memory destroys me.  You consume me like slow burning chemical fire, all that's left of me will be ash, yet I can't bring myself to cut off your oxygen, your fuel, I can't simply let you go.  I can't just let you die again.

Anodyne

If steel could shatter, she’d have splintered long ago.  Her pieces scattered across the bathroom floor and it’s gotten to a point where, even if she had known how to put herself back together, she wouldn’t have bothered.  Not because she hates herself, but because she honestly doesn’t care.  She can’t.  Machines don’t know how.