Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

August has arrived, and with it a more relaxed mood for my self reflections.

I was so caught up in the rush, I didn’t bother to think about it at all. I wanted to ride this wave, to live in the fast lane, to never lose the wind blowing through my hair. I wanted it all so badly…that I never noticed. Well, more like I refused to acknowledge the facts. The wind, this ride, our moment in time…I thought of it as flying, but from the word go, this was nothing more than falling. So, given enough time, I’m going to hit the ground. I know that, but maybe I don’t care. Maybe I just want to enjoy this ride for all it’s worth, and I’ll be satisfied with only this. Maybe I’m riding this fall with so much enthusiasm because I want to hit the Earth that much harder. Maybe I want that fall to be so brutal that, not only will it cripple, but perhaps it will kill…Yeah, I think that’s it. I’m not being ignorant of the consequences, but in fact I’m counting on them. I know you aren’t good for me, but I don’t care. I’ll take you, all of you, and let you take not only everything I have, but everything I could ever have. It’s all yours, and for the low, low price of a few moments of your time, and some memories to cling to in my final moments.

It’s the beginning of August, so the sun it setting earlier and earlier. It’s something anybody can observe, but for me it feels more personal. I can feel the days becoming shorter, but for the first time in my life I’m okay with this. I used to want summer to last forever, and every year I looked forward to the next, and for a fresh summer. But I’m okay with this. Everything has to end at some point. I’m okay with ending. I’ll enjoy this last summer, these last bit of fireworks. I’ll ride until everything is closed. I’ll enjoy this fall until I crash. And I’ll make sure that crash is hard enough to ensure I’ll never have to crash again. I don’t care if you hurt me anymore, because pain only matters if you are alive to feel it. I’ll be okay, I’ll escape the pain. So I’ll enjoy the ride, for all it’s worth, until my fall finally ends.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

I don’t know why I bother.

It’s 85 degrees outside, and the air in this old office isn’t what you’d call “top notch”, so my shirt is sticking to my chair, and my shirt sleeve is stained with forehead sweat. I walked in, sat down, and the heat made me sick within minutes. I’ve been up to empty my guts 3 times since 8AM, and it’s not even lunchtime yet. To make matters worse, the bathroom is right behind our offices most populated set of cubicles, so whenever I must go, everybody sees me get up, walk over to the bathroom, disappear for 10 minutes, only to return looking like I just finished a few rounds in the ring. Repeat this 3-6 times daily, and I’m sure everybody is disgusted by me. I wash my hands, and come in wearing decent enough clothes, and shower and have deodorant and brush my teeth, etc. etc. However, all of that is thrown out the window the second you notice the fat little Asian of the office seems to be taking enough shits for everyone on the payroll. At first, people will chalk it up to being lazy, thinking I must be wasting time on my phone, texting friends, browsing social media, playing Pokémon Go like a true American. That line of thinking evaporates quickly the second somebody talks to me though, as it becomes painfully obvious just how socially inept I really am. My co-workers quickly come to the conclusion that I’m not wasting my time on my phone in there, because it’s impossible that I could be holding a conversation with another human being, even if it was just a Facebook post or a stupid tweet. No, this…person? Yeah, I guess I’d still be considered a person. Anyway, the barely person that I am is either shitting their brains out (true), or using alone time in the stall to cry where nobody can see, giving her the strength to get back out there for at least 45 minutes before her next mental breakdown (also true). What can I say, I’m a multitasker? Between the heat, diarrhea and a lifetime of self-loathing, my body can shift from raging volcano to bottomless Antarctic pit in a matter of milliseconds.

At the beginning of the Summer, my office hired interns. We hired young, attractive, high school interns. They all sit together, and they all do the same thing (nothing, because what high school junior knows enough about anything to be able to offer any help to anybody?). I sound mean because I’m bitter. Honestly, they are nice kids. They got here 2 weeks ago, and they try. I’ve shown 2 of them a few tricks with Microsoft Excel, and traded 1 of them 4 quarters for a ripped dollar bill that our vending machine wouldn’t take. Aside from those 2 moments, and introductions when they all started, I haven’t spoken a word to these kids. And I’m not just saying that, I’ve counted, because that’s what I do. I am so self-conscience about everything that is me, that I know exactly how many times I’ve spoken to everybody in my office. Aside from my boss, that number doesn’t exceed 2 digits for anybody. It’s all my fault as well. When I started, people tried talking to me, made attempts to help me “fit in”, but within the course of 1 or 2 conversations they realized the folly of their ways, and thus my self-induced work isolation cycle began anew. Back to the interns; they aren’t bad, and I don’t think they want to hurt my feelings, but they are still in high school, and what high schooler could resist making fun of such an easy target? They weren’t being loud or spreading rumors around the office. They weren’t even being pointed about it; I probably only noticed because I’m special tuned to pick up any and all negative things said about me, along with being able to filter anything positive into something neutral or negative. So, these high school kids see me coming out of the bathroom for the 4th time today. It’s 2:14PM, and I haven’t finished any of my work for the day, and my nose is all runny and gross and I know I’m sniffling so much it must be disgusting to have to hear, and I barely catch it, and I could just ignore it, but it’s me, so that’s not actually an option. My ears are advanced radars, and what they pick up…it’s really just laughter, right? It doesn’t have to be about me, right? But I can’t block out the words. I want to block out the words, but I can’t. It’s not even that mean, really. I already know my sniffling is gross, so the suggestion that I learn how to use a tissue is actually just good life advice. My body is a science experiment gone horribly wrong, so pointing out that so many trips to the bathroom in a day means I must really eat some terrible shit at home is 100% accurate. And yes, my hair is rather ugly when I wear it short. And yes, it was much better last week when my long hair covered my gigantic ears. And of course, it should go without saying, but they say it all the same! I must live alone, because who could put up with my painful, disgusting, awkward ass! They might be kids, but they have eyes that work just fine, and they aren’t afraid to call it like they see it. And like I said, they didn’t say this at a volume where they knew I could hear it. And what they did say was actually rather tame versus what I’m used to from high school kids. But my broken ass body reacts before I can stop it. My empty stomach drops down to my knees, and I become aware of how much oxygen I’m wasting on my fast breathing. My arms start to shake a little, then a lot, and then I have to stop typing or writing, and I do my best to keep my these fists from punching myself silly. I feel my body collapsing in on itself in an attempt to shrink the target that is me, but I’m unable to forget my own mass, and I can’t stop starring at the rolls on my stomach as my head flirts with banging into my desk. But the worst of it is that slow creeping chill. It’s born from my chest, and it eats through my veins, swallowing blood and shitting out reminders of every little fucking thing I hate about myself. The sensation creeps through my arms, and all of my scars start screaming in unison, and I’m embarrassed! I’m so fucking embarrassed! I’m so sure that everybody can see them, even though I put so much effort into hiding them! Even though I always remember to wear long sleeves everywhere I do! Even though I’ve tried every scar cream known to man to get them to fade! But what good will hiding, or covering, or even erasing them do, when I keep adding to my collection! And just as that realization leaves me feeling naked, the cold flushes through my back and legs and head, and I shiver like I’m building a snowman in my birthday suit, and I have to stop, I have to find some way to stop, just stop me, just stop everything that is me. I need to grab the scissors in my desk, bang it into the wall, and throw myself head first into those blades. I need to throw my chair through the window at the end of the hallway and follow it down, straight into the parking lot pavement. I need to run back into the factory, find the largest, most dangerous looking piece of equipment, and do whatever it takes to get it to kill me. Fucking kill me. I fucking need to die, right fucking now. God, I can’t take this anymore, not for another second, I can’t handle it. I can’t handle life, I never wanted to live, I never wanted to be this fucking thing that I am. Please, I just need to die. I want to die. Kill me. Fucking let me die…please…

The overwhelming urge to commit suicide fades along with the chills, but only to a tolerable level, and only to a level I would describe as tolerable. It’s roughly 2-4 minutes of me at my desk, hoping nobody walks by to see me silently freaking out. After 5 minutes, I’m calm enough to be my normal, awful self. Of course, I’m just repressing my feelings, so I already know when I get home shits gonna hit the fan. But I’m used to this. It used to be a once in a while sort of deal. Then it grew into a monthly deal. And from monthly to weekly, and weekly to daily. Yes, this is an everyday thing. Honestly I’m happy if it only happens once a day. I’ve literally run out of fresh skin to scar, so I’m overlapping, creating patchworks to replace those solid, parallel lines. I’ve run out of skin, and patience, and any sense of self-love…no, I’ve just ran out of any sort of love at all…

I always told myself that a life without love isn’t a life worth living. I’m finding out that’s 100% not true. My life wasn’t worth living long before I ran out of love. Now that I’m out of love, I’ve just become a ghost. I want to die, but I can’t kill myself. I want to kill myself, but I’m afraid to die. I thought that if I had nothing left to love, I wouldn’t care if I died. Turns out, if you have no more love, you have nothing left to fight away the fear. And I’ve been out of love long enough to be neck high in fear…and I keep hoping that the fear will keep growing, eventually letting me drown. But I know fear…it won’t ever let me die…it will keep me on the brink, keep me begging, but it won’t let go…

I hate this…but it’s all my doing…I destroyed all of my love, instead feeding all of my fears. This is what I am now; fear is all I have.


If there is a God, then please…

Please, God…kill me.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

The difference between a hope and a wish

I hope for things that have yet to come, and I wish I could go back and change everything. I’m nothing but a mess of what ifs, weighed down by a mountain of could have beens, and underneath it all is nothing but an ugly husk of questionable, molting moralities. Hoping is bullshit. It’s what those who lack the will to act get high on so they can ignore their own pathetic reflections. Wishing is kiddy garbage. It’s for idiots who can only make mistakes and never have the guts to break the cycle. Hope is for stupid people who think only of tomorrow, while wishing is for morons who can’t stop thinking of yesterday. I’m not sure which is worse, so I might as well fucking overdose on both.


“I hope that I can make up for everything, before my time is up.”

~I wish I wasn’t so fucking useless. ~

“I hope I don’t die without having accomplished anything at all.”

~I wish I wasn’t afraid of an afterlife. ~

“I hope that I’m gone before I have a chance to hurt anybody else.”

~I wish I hadn’t thrown those bullets out of the car window before I got home from work that day. ~

“I hope that when this year ends, it’s really the end.”

~I wish I had found the courage to take a few more pills, just enough to get some silence. ~

“I hope it stays warm through October; I don’t want to be buried in the ground when it’s cold.”

~I wish I had cut myself deep enough to bleed out. ~

“I hope I can do this before August; I don’t want to ruin my Sisters birthday.”

~I wish I could have died before wasting so much money on college. ~

“I hope that, when the Spring finally melts this snow, it can also melt my cowardice and I’ll be able to pull the trigger.”

~I wish I had killed myself before my first high school crush. ~

“I hope that I crash this car into a ditch and freeze to death; I fucking deserve to suffer quietly and alone before I die.”

~I wish a baseball would have hit me in the head during little league, so I wouldn’t have to live wishing I had the strength to hit myself hard enough to fucking die. ~

“I hope my death will somehow make up for all the shit I’ve caused throughout my life.”

~I wish I had jumped further from the pier, just far enough so my Dad couldn’t have jumped in and saved me, just far enough so that I would have suffered and drowned like the idiot 6 year old I was deserved. ~

“I hope that as this year begins, I don’t let it begin.”

~I wish I had never been born. ~


Wow, it’s truly amazing how pathetic I am. Hoping for an end while wishing that end had already come to pass, what a fucking piece of shit, what a truly disgusting, terrible, ugly creature I am. Fuck me. Seriously, just…I can’t even comprehend how fucking awful I am. Please, stop hoping and stop wishing and just pull the fucking trigger.

Just fucking die.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

It’s not Hell on Earth, it’s just Hell.

“People can break into pieces, and every single one of those pieces still has enough of us to feel, enough of us to love, enough of us to break again…We may only have 1 life to live, but in that life, a person can die more than once.”

I tried to wash this all away in a rush of pills and alcohol. It was one mistake to match every other mistake I’ve ever made, and all to soon I hit the bottom of every bottle within arm’s reach. The only thing worse than hitting rock bottom, is hitting rock bottom to fast. I’m already out of options, but the drugs haven’t taken full effect. I’m still capable of thinking and feeling, and since I am already at the bottom, I have nothing left but time.

Time is the enemy here; it always has been and always will. I’m at the bottom, but time followed me down, so now all I can do is wait. And waiting is the worst. I’m just waiting for the pills to poison my blood, light a fire under my skin that demands release. I’m just waiting for the alcohol to flush away any lingering, rational thoughts, leaving me to choke on sour breath and unvoiced regrets.

Yes, it’s all a waiting game now, the only game I seem to know how to play, and the only game you never have a chance to win. Every second I’m left waiting for the high to rip away my senses, a palpable fear filters its way into the cracks of my remaining humanity. I’m trapped in this crumbling reflection, and its hell. This is the lowest level of hell. This is the boiling sulfur, fire and brimstone, pray to your God and every God for just a shred of mercy, type of hell.  

Yet, through it all, time still crawls forward, and it drags my sorry ass out of that pool of fear and into an Ocean of nothingness. I blink up at the sky and wonder if I’ve gone blind, because whether my eyes are open or closed, everything looks the Goddamn same. I try to listen for something familiar, but as I strain my ears, I realize I can’t even sense a whisper from this saltwater room. I want to lift my head up, or sit up, or just wiggle a toe, but this saltwater is binding my exposed skin to the unshifting brine. I am trapped, and for a split second, the fear I’ve been swallowing swells, eclipsing my everything, and nothing exists outside of this gaping mouth of hopelessness that stands ready to swallow me whole.

But that second passes, and I’m just alone. I’m alone, without even my own thoughts for company. Nothing can reach me here, at the bottom of my upside-down Sea. Nothing can touch me, or burn me, or scare me. Nothing can choke me, or poison me, or rip me apart. Nothing can hurt me, because there’s nothing left in this world to hurt, because I made sure, I made damn sure, that I left myself nothing…

And even with nothing…I still wake up.

I know it wasn’t just a bad dream. I know that hell, that fear, that painful absence of any hope… I know they are all very real…but every time I do this, I still wake up.  

I know enough about my own shitty person to know how much is too much, and I stop short of pulling the trigger every time. Every stupid time. Every single stupid, fucking chance I give myself to get out, I fucking stop short! I’m right there! I can fucking see the end RIGHT FUCKING THERE! BUT I CAN’T DO IT! I CAN’T FUCKING DO IT! I CAN’T!!!!!

…I can’t do it…I should do it…I want to do it…but I can’t do it…

And it hurts…it hurts so goddamn much…

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

From chaos and all its corollary elements, how is it that every breath in the expanse of existence has lead this Universe towards the creation of the exact me?

I woke up today thinking it was Wednesday. This was odd, as yesterday was Monday, and I didn’t recall doing any time traveling. Where did my Tuesday go? I checked my phone and it confirmed my internal clock must be broken, because of course it was Tuesday. It was Tuesday, April 24th, 2018, the day directly following Monday, April 23rd, 2018. I was moving through time and space at the same speed as the rest of the people on this planet.

But that can’t be right.

My phone is telling me it is not only Tuesday, April 24th, 2018, but it is also 9:43PM. That’s PM, as in post-meridiem, as in 2 hours, 17 minutes of Wednesday, April 25th, 2018. It’s so close to the next day, it might as well be the next day. But then that day ought to just be the next day after that, and so on and so on and so on. Why am I bothering to move at all? Why am I letting my world be lived out in the forward progression of these clocks and calendars? I can just forfeit my time, right? I can just wake up and decide that today is not today. Or maybe that yesterday never happened, or that tomorrow has come and gone. I can do that, any and all of that, and find myself at the end.

I can stop my time.

So what am I waiting for? I’m blowing up my career because I’m too embarrassed to explain away the fresh cuts covering my arm, and I’m too drugged up to concentrate and get anything done in a timely manner. I’m actively attacking my body in new ways, ranging from punching myself until I throw up to breaking my own wrist and arm with a wooden baseball bat. I’m sick, very fucking sick, but I refuse to get help. I want to fix myself, but I can’t. I have people offering help, but I won’t accept any. I am running out of time…but wait, I can’t be running out of time, right? I mean I stopped my time. So I’m not running out of the stuff. But I guess, by putting my time on pause, I’m making it impossible to get any better. So when my time does start moving, it’ll be a split second of light at the end of my life, and in that moment I’ll feel an eternities worth of regret, and then I’ll be nothing.

And that’s all you ever were.

You were always nothing. You were not flowery words and similes of love. You were never a broken hearted teen. You were never a good son, or sibling, or friend. Hell, you never even knew what love really was. You were never good. You never mattered. You never could have amounted to anything. You never were meant to live. You never had the courage to just fucking kill yourself.

You’re a fucking coward.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

May 3rd, 2018. It’s been 5 years, and I’ve spent that entire span of time proving you right. I’m alone today, and I really shouldn’t be alone today..

“Why do you want to die?”

~I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times, and I’ve come up with a thousand different answers. It depends on the time of day, whether or not I’ve seen the Sun in the past 24 hours. It changes based on how full I am, and whether or not I’ve cooked a decent meal for myself versus being surrounded by a mountain of empty pizza boxes. Maybe the biggest factor is how empty that brand new bottle of pills is after 1 not so bad day, and where I left my favorite knife last night…~

“I’m asking about today, right now. What happened? Taylor…what happened that made you want to die? What made death seem like your only option?”

~But dying isn’t my only option. Do you think I’ve come to this conclusion because it’s the only thing I have left?~

“Why else would you be saying it, acting the way you act, making everyone so worried that they felt the need to come find you in the middle of the night in your apartment to make sure you were still alive?! Why else would you want to die unless it was the only thing left?!”

~There are so many other things, but the main one would be this; I could die, or I could live. I’m picking between the 2.~

“Bullshit. You owe me more of an answer than that.”

~No, I don’t. It’s simple, and you don’t want it to be simple. You want a logical path. Well I didn’t follow any logic to get here, so I guess it’s a path you could never follow. And that upsets you, probably just as much as anything else I’ve said or done. You can’t see what I see, and you feel left behind, right?~

“You always do this…you always twist it into this…this thing, your thing, it always becomes your things, your words, your right and I’m wrong! I do feel left behind, okay?! I feel left behind, betrayed, abandoned, discarded, thrown in the garbage! I want to understand, but I can’t! I can’t, and I never can! You are somewhere in the universe, and it’s…it’s really, really far away…Taylor, you are right here in front of me, right? You’re voice is so close I can feel your breathing…but you aren’t here. Taylor…I can reach out my hand and touch your arm, but you aren’t really here…You feel so far away, when I never wanted that, ever. I would have followed you… I wanted to follow you…Taylor, please, tell me, why can’t we see the same things anymore? Hey, Taylor, why? Why? Hey, just tell me, please, I want to know. Why is it you want to go where I can’t follow? Where nobody can follow? Why do you want to die?”

~…What was it I wanted to be when I was finally all grown up? Do you remember?~

“…You said it didn’t matter what you did, or where you lived, or how long it would last. You said you just wanted to live and grow up to be happy…”

~That should be everybody’s goal, right? To find happiness, that’s all life should be. The details on how a person gets to that point, they shouldn’t matter, not in the long run. Don’t you agree?~

“I want that for you, Taylor. I want you to have happiness, so why do you want to…”

~Die? What if I said it’s because that’s what would make me happy? You wouldn’t wish for my happiness then, would you?~

“Taylor…I’m not sure…”

~You can’t imagine death like that. You can’t imagine death as granting somebody happiness.~

“People are always dying, it’s part of life. Sometimes people are suffering, and death would be better than the pain of living. Is that what you’re getting at? That you are in so much pain that dying would be a mercy, and thus make you happy?”

~Absolutely not. That line of thinking is a copout. My suffering, my pain, I can gauge them against other peoples, and it’s obvious I’m one lucky person. I have more going for me than going against me.~

“..But you still want to die?”


“And dying is the best way for you to be happy?”

~Dying would be scary. The thought of not existing frightens me. I’m scared out of my mind, and every time I take another pill or cut another notch in my skin, I feel a real terror, that I’ve gone to far this time, that I won’t make it back. I’m terrified of what death means.~

“Then why seek it out?! Why are you doing this if you are afraid?! God, Taylor…you have people who don’t want you dead! They want you to live and smile and be happy! And you make those people happy! You add so much to the lives of so many! Don’t downplay it! Don’t do it, Taylor! You don’t need to die!”

~I know I don’t. I get what you’re trying to say, and why you’re saying it, and it makes me feel really, really warm, to hear you say that. But I know I don’t have to die.~


~But I’ve thought about it. A lot. Like, a lot a lot, and I’ve realized I’m not living to be happy. I want happiness. Well, more like I want to want happiness. That doesn’t make much sense, but it’s the best way I can say it. I’m not living, working and saving, trying and hoping, for a future. I’m not thinking about what tomorrow might bring, I’m just thinking about getting there. And that in and of itself isn’t such a bad thing, especially for someone who has depression. I was struggling just to wake up, because nothing seemed worth it. I fought with myself every night, and I kept getting up, kept fighting off my demons. It hurt…but I was trying to win. I wanted to eventually win, and feel free, feel something other than empty.~

“You weren’t! You’re Not empty, not at all! You have so much inside of you, and you show it every day! You give people, you give ME, something that nobody else can! So you are NOT empty!”

~You are kind, and not just for saying those things. You aren’t saying them just because you think I need to hear those words, I know that. And I want to believe in you. I want to believe in the you who believes in me. But at the end of the day, no version of me feels anything, aside from this fear of dying. And so I keep living. For me, that’s not what I want. I want to beat the fear, I want to see what’s on the other side. I want to fight back in the only way I feel will matter. I want to die.~

“..what about what I want?”

~I’m selfish, you know this. In the end I’m always going to pick me.~

“I mean nothing to you?”

~You know you are more than nothing…~

“So I’m not the dirt, but the worms in the dirt?! I’m one step up from trash in your eyes! That’s all people are to you, huh?! A blur of faces, and none of us mean a fucking, goddamn thing to you!”


“Say it! Fucking say it! Admit it! Just say that you don’t give a flying fuck! I was never anything to you! And nobody else, and nobody EVER, could ever have been something!”


“You always have something to say, so why are you being quiet!? Why won’t you just fucking say it! It doesn’t matter, you are going to die anyway, so why not just say it?! SAY IT!!!”

~I…I want to die…and I know what that means…regardless of my feelings and reasons, in the end, it’s selfish, the ultimate selfish act… I don’t want to say it all meant nothing…but my actions speak louder than words…~

“…So I’m nothing…and this…us…we were…we are…nothing?”


“You…dying should be easy, seeing as how you are so good at killing others.”

~I didn’t want to…~

“YOU DIDN’T WHAT?! Didn’t want to HURT me?! You let people close to you! Maybe we didn’t know the real you, maybe you just played us, all of us, your entire fucking life, but we CARED! And we still care! And you don’t get to say you didn’t want to hurt anybody when you say you want to die!”

~…you asked me why, and I told you why…and I knew this would happen, which is why I didn’t want to talk about it.~

“O of COURSE you knew! You know everything, right?! Just the all seeing Taylor, peering straight into your soul! What amazing spiritual prowess!”

~…just shut up, for one minute, please. Just…stop. I told you, I knew how this would end, how this conversation would have to end. I’ve spent years thinking this through in my head, and…~

“Why don’t YOU just shut the fuck up, for 5 fucking minutes! It’s my turn to talk, not yours! This is my lecture, and you WILL listen! You always have something to say! Taylor, you ALWAYS have a response! Why is that, huh? Why do you always have to have a come back, have the last word, leave the last impression? You don’t even have an answer for me, you know you are being a selfish prick, and you think just admitting that will make me understand?! I totally fucking get that you are being a grade A asshat! I totally understand that you are aware of your status as a douchebag! But being aware and admitting to it doesn’t mean you understand how I FEEL! Do I feel betrayed? Yes! Do I feel angry? Big ol fucking hell yeah! Do I want to punch you square in the jaw? Give me some tape and brass knuckles and I’d go to town! But do I ever, for a second, want you to leave? Well, what do you think? Now it’s your turn to talk, so go ahead Taylor.”

~..I can’t make excuses, and I won’t try. I hurt you, and treated you and others like garbage. I’m a garbage human for that.~

“That’s not answering my question, Taylor.”

~Look, at some point, even if I wasn’t trying to hurt anybody, I made the choices that were going to hurt them, which is the same as making the decision to hurt them…to hurt you..and I…~



“And since when have I ever made any sort of sense, huh?!”

~STOP! Just…just fucking STOP! I want to die, because I don’t know how to live! And so long as something is keeping me tethered to the here and now I’ll never be able to take that next step! I should be dead! So why am I not dead?! Because it would hurt my friends and family?! Because I’m afraid to die?! I have no illusion of hope! I crushed every ounce of me that would even dare to hope! I’m a patchwork of bullshit human emotions hiding behind an idiots mask! I’m not the person you think I am! I’m not even the person I thought I was! I’m not! I’m just…I’m nothing…and I don’t care anymore…just go ahead and hate me, fuck it. I don’t care anymore.~

“Taylor. You still haven’t answered my question.”

~…you wouldn’t leave me.~

“And do you know why?”

~I’m toxic. You’re supposed to cut toxic people out of your life, we do nothing but take, and…~


~Jesus fucking Christ, no, okay! I don’t know why you stay, or want to stay! I don’t!~

“FINALLY! Something you don’t know! I finally get to teach you something! Listen up, and listen good, because I’m only going to say this once. Well, I’ll actually say this as many times as I need to in order to get it through that thick skull of yours. Are you listening?”

~..just tell me.~

“I won’t walk away from you, and I don’t want to walk away from you, because I love you.”

~I’m not worth loving…~

“Doesn’t matter. My love is there. I don’t love everything about you. Like right now, I’m not loving how sore my throat is from yelling at you. I’m not loving how stupid you are, or how cold it is in the middle of April in your apartment, since you never turn the heat up after March. I’m not loving how tired your eyes are…and how sloped your back is. I don’t like how dry your skin looks, or how you haven’t shaved in what must be months. I don’t love that you aren’t taking care of yourself…and I don’t love how you want to die…but Taylor, I still love you. I’m your friend, and I love you. I love seeing you smile, and I know you want me to smile too. I’m not going to throw you away. You are acting like you are throwing me away, and you are even saying you will…but I don’t buy it. I don’t know if you could actually go through with it Taylor. And honestly..I don’t even know if things will get better…I don’t know if I can help, but God I want to. I want to help you Taylor. I don’t understand, but I want to help anyway.”

~..You’re to good for me…~

“Hey, I agree with you, but I’m here anyway. And I’m not going anywhere.”

~…I didn’t think this talk would end like this.~

“End? O heavens no, this talk is FAR from over.”

~Damnit..should’ve guessed.~

“You still feel like you want to die, right?”


“Let’s go get dinner. Chinese buffet sound good?”

~I’m not sure if dinner is…~

“Look, nobody has EVER killed themselves while enjoying a chinese buffet. At least not at the Golden Dragon. Or at least not in the past year. And you haven’t eaten today. So, we shall feast!”

~You switch gears awfully fast.~

“There are 7 billion humans on Earth. And the Earth is a giant ball of dirt and shit flying through space, stuck in orbit around a giant oven planet, which is only 1 of an infinite number of giant oven planets in a universe we can’t even begin to imagine. Gotta stay flexible.”

~…Fried rice does sound good.~

“You’re driving.”

~Of course, I wouldn’t trust you driving us anywhere.~

“Very true.”

~…Thank you…~

“Don’t thank me. We’re just starting Taylor.”

~…Will you hate me, if you wake up some day and I’m not here?~

“I think what you’re really asking, is whether or not I’d forgive you.”


“And that would depend. But overall, probably not.”


“But that’s not going to be enough of a reason for you not to kill yourself anyway, so it’s not worth me, or you, worrying about. I want you to find a reason to live that isn’t based on guilt. But, if guilt will prolong things, I’m very willing to lean on it, at least for now.”

~That’s pretty cruel.”

“You aren’t the only one who can be ruthless Taylor.”

~You got me there.~

“I’m not leaving. And I’m not going to give you a free pass if you die.”

~…you really are to good for me…~

“Of course. Now, let’s hit the road. I need a full 2 hours to make full use of the buffet.”

~…thank you…~

“O shut up! But you’re welcome.”

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

I haven’t prayed to God, any God, in years, so don’t mistake my screaming to the sky as blaming God for anything.

You bare your teeth to the pavement,

And a heavy throat rumbles

Like jagged thunder.

It’s not yet time for the fireflies,

So you are left with chewed fingernails,

Coffee kisses and limestone skin.

The Moon is calling you,

Because you are a tide,

Slowly spreading your cerulean

Towards the edge of creation,

Only to be pulled back, back,

Back into the shifting brine.