"I hope things work out for you and somewhere inside you find the courage to act rather than think."

Can't I just die and come back as one of these?


I Want To, Go Back To, The First Time, The First Place.

Sometimes I don't know where I am.
Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I think I'm a ghost.
I can see right through my eyes to the wall standing behind me.
Sometimes I can't tell if I'm standing or sitting. Awake or sleeping.
Is this what life is like?
Sometimes I can't tell if I'm dead or alive.
What is it to live but to die extremely slow?
I can feel electricity in my fingertips.
Is this human or am I robotic?
Sometimes I move like water, like waves.
Up the stairs and down the stairs like rivers.
Sometimes I go sideways, like my brain is off balance.
Like my feet are telling lies.
Sometimes I think I'm made of bricks.
And then I think I'm soft. And I'm made of dust or feathers or mud.
Sometimes I think the only way to be okay is to cry until you're empty.
Void and black and infinite.
I think if I run across that bridge today I'll pass out.
Maybe I could jump off.
The water looks inviting and nourishing.
But I know better.
It lies.
It's cold like knives and if I died there today,
it means I died alone.
I want to throw my phone through glass.
And listen to the tinkling shards fall like ivory keys.
Hammers on heart strings.
Sometimes I want to bang my head on hard places.
Like I can shake the synapses in my brain to function.
I want happiness.
Come back to me, seratonin.
Walking away,
talking all day.
(I can't stand this.)
Ooh I want you.
But there's something
about the summer
that makes me moody.

What The Fuck Do You Want?

I want.
I need.
I feel.

I feel too much.
I want things to stop.
I need the sun to set and not come up.
I want pills for infinity.
I want life sealed in a glass jar.
I want it shelved and dusty and gone.
Go away.
Though don't go too far.
Come back so I can make you leave again.

You say that you never want it to end
so I stick around.
But now you're gone, so gone.

I Didn't Buy The House. I Couldn't Put A Hammock In The Ceiling.

I want to dye my hair ten shades of blue.
Why does he kiss my cheek and tell me that he'll call?
They never ever do.

I don't want curves. They turn your eyes away.
You're looking at another girl. You must be.
You're looking somewhere else.

I crossed the bridge today, I cried and I can't sleep.
You're ruining my heart. A little at a time but everyday consistent.
Like erosion. Water on stone. Salt in soil. Wind at the face of a cliff.

Every grain of sand is a fiber that stops beating.
A walking hourglass, a waiting landslide, a standing flood.

I want your heart.
I want it to be mine.
I want it on a plate with a side of desperation.

I've lived to learn that love is only love when your lover loves you back.


Things No One Cares About

  • I hate how Starbucks treats my taste buds so well at the cost of making my hair smell like espresso until I shower again.
  • I hid my scale away. No more weight goals. Just pure, clean eating until I'm happy with my size.
  • I'm making a list of everything I want in someone who I might give a chance at having a relationship with. I'm going to show it to not one single person.
  • I'll never love anyone until they take me to Paris. 



Terrible it is to be alone with the judge and avenger of one’s own law. Thus is a star thrown out into the void and into the icy breath of solitude. Today you are still suffering from the many, being one: today your courage and your hopes are still whole. But the time will come when solitude will make you weary, when your pride will double up, and your courage gnash its teeth. And you will cry, I am alone! The time will come when that which seems high to you will no longer be in sight, and that which seems low will be all-too-near; even what seems sublime to you will frighten you like a ghost. And you will cry, All is false!
There are feelings which want to kill the lonely; and if they do not succeed, well, then they themselves must die. But are you capable of this—to be a murderer?
— Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra


The Dog Days Are Over.

Fuck these plain girls and their fat nerdy boyfriends.
You don't need to listen to that band for him to love you.
Fuck calling and calling and calling again and again.
We rack up our minutes into dusty pyramids; lined up in rows, year after year.
We look at our call logs and are devastated by our desperation.
Fuck drinking shitty trench water beers because he does.
Don't fuck the boys who pour Palm Bays down your throat
and take you out into the forest at night to look at the stars.
The sweater wasn't to keep warm, it was to take off you later.
This isn't romantic.
This is chasing one thing. This is hunting and making goals out of people.
The charm in their arrows is nothing less than venomous.
So I die every time and my grave is his bed.
Bury me bury me bury me.

A love life.
Love and life.
My love life is lifeless and without love.
It is a specter of lust, fear and solitude.
The history is nothing short of a tome of ghost stories.
My heart is a haunted mansion.
Lured in alone, one at a time.
We draw them in; trace chills up their spines. We rattle their bones.
The goosebumps get to be too much and they run. Though that rusty, rattling gate.
I've scared them all away.
And now I'm locking the door. Chaining the gate. Barring the windows.

We need no one here.
Maybe some girls do go through stages. This isn't a stage.
This is my life.


Try And Keep Your Trousers On.

This is an open letter to myself.

Stop doing that. It's not fun anymore. In fact, it's fucking heart breaking.
You have no one to blame but yourself.
You are probably over thinking as usual.
You've slept on the forest floor for a week straight.
You're going to be okay.
Sleep in your bed. Shower in the morning.
Get pretty and go to school and enjoy your current relationships.
This isn't the worst thing that could happen. 
You're pretty bad at predicting how things usually go so ignore your foresight for now.
Rebuild your spirit. Your life is changed, whether you feel it for certain or not.
Things are different now. Change for the better. Always improve. Grow, grow, and grow.
Expect the worst and hope for nothing because hope itself is vapid and empty.
No matter what happens, the situation is perfect, even though you don't realize it now.
Whatever the outcome, you will be happy. In every event.
You're going to be fine. 
Yes, you should analyze. But do not over think. Do not drive yourself insane. 
If this is over already, be aware of the karmic functions in the 
Universe and appreciate their place.
Learn from it and improve.
If it goes as perfect as you wanted, continue to behave like 
the person you think the world put you here to be. 
Make your best performance. It's your only shot on this stage.
Finish the show to the end. 
I'm telling you now that you will stumble on the script, 
you'll probably even trip a few times.
Just swear to yourself that you'll stand.
Let them laugh at you. 
But play your part.
It'll be over before you know it.

Someone loves you. Someone will one day. You're not alone.
It will be okay in the morning.