“I’ve never known where I was going, I just knew I had to keep moving. But even without a destination in mind, I think I always sort of knew this is where I’d end up. In the end, we all reach the end we were destined for.”

I caught up to you, on the last train of the night. For me, it’s the last train home. But where is this train taking you? I can tell it’s not taking you home, but it’s still the last train, so where is it you want this train to take you?  ~Beyond the tracks, past … Continue reading “I’ve never known where I was going, I just knew I had to keep moving. But even without a destination in mind, I think I always sort of knew this is where I’d end up. In the end, we all reach the end we were destined for.”

And I know I’d waste my last words on something stupid, like “I’m sorry,” or “I never stopped loving you.”

Another day, another bottle’s contents swirling in my stomach, melting away the anxiety and replacing it with a physical sensation akin to choking. Or perhaps my throat is actually swollen shut? My lungs might be filling up with cheap liquor and cigarette smoke, leaving no room for something as silly as a chemical reaction turning … Continue reading And I know I’d waste my last words on something stupid, like “I’m sorry,” or “I never stopped loving you.”

Miya Folick is everything I love about music.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKG2IWsvISQ At this point I've watched Miya Folick perform this song a hundred different times, and every single time I'm still blown away. The feelings she invokes with her voice, the way she writes sharp, intimate songs with soft words, and the way she lets the music take over with every performance, I've found that … Continue reading Miya Folick is everything I love about music.

I don’t know where I’m coming from, and I don’t care where I’m heading. I wish I had the strength to just…stop.

I’ve spent the past 6 years trying to erase everything. If our lives are homes that grow with time, than what I have been doing is leaving the front door unlocked, every window open, and I couldn’t even wait for the world to rip out anything of value, so I actively participated in the pillaging, … Continue reading I don’t know where I’m coming from, and I don’t care where I’m heading. I wish I had the strength to just…stop.

Days turned to weeks, and now it’s been months; exactly 96 days I’ve been sober. But that’s left my mind with nothing but time to wonder about you and me…so I’m sober, but I’m suffocating, trying to accept a me without you…

Now I remember your face The name you remind me of, so fake This bitter pill, just a bit overkill But theater has its place’s We have come to a fork in the middle of this road Damnit, who put this here? Blocking my way, making it harder to say What I need to Well … Continue reading Days turned to weeks, and now it’s been months; exactly 96 days I’ve been sober. But that’s left my mind with nothing but time to wonder about you and me…so I’m sober, but I’m suffocating, trying to accept a me without you…

Rainy days are my favorite days, because in the rain I can believe in things like a clean start or second chances.

I waited for you in April, but as the rain came and went, you never revealed yourself to me.  I stayed there, and I’m still here, unable to rise up and enjoy the summer sun. And as this autumn fades into blinding snow, you are often the only thing on my mind. I’m still waiting … Continue reading Rainy days are my favorite days, because in the rain I can believe in things like a clean start or second chances.

The rush you once gave me has become a burning friction, and the years spent alone have turned my love into fiction, and nothing I ever do will mean a goddamned thing.”

You know, I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to keep waking up in physical pain, throwing up my future all over my bathroom floor, replacing my bath rugs on a weekly basis. It’s not fun, and it makes me feel nothing. I don’t want to be nothing, but what else is … Continue reading The rush you once gave me has become a burning friction, and the years spent alone have turned my love into fiction, and nothing I ever do will mean a goddamned thing.”

“It feels like I’m thinning out my soul, turning once sturdy cider bark into bargain bin brown paper bags.”

You love me. But your love, It’s the same love As the January Sun; An abbreviated afternoon Punctured with pockets Of cumulonimbus skies. Your kisses breed frostbite, Coating every syllable In a gelid timber. But I found something, Even if you are Just passing through. And it was enough For me to latch onto, Even … Continue reading “It feels like I’m thinning out my soul, turning once sturdy cider bark into bargain bin brown paper bags.”

“Etch these words into my skin so I may never forget; I steal my light as a paper moon, only glowing after sunset.”

He creeps into your mind At the most inopportune times, Stealing away precious brain cells And holding in the CO2 That you’ve built up in your veins. Whatever warmth you had Seeps out through your open chest, Replacing the justified anger With docile tones And heavy shakes. You feel leaks, tiny pin pricks, Along all … Continue reading “Etch these words into my skin so I may never forget; I steal my light as a paper moon, only glowing after sunset.”