Posted in Blog

A Quiet Life

They’re complaining again, and I’m trapped, somewhere in the ceiling, because that’s where I was left, when everyone ran away and it suddenly became my job to avoid their ever changing moods, and daily drinking binges.

I type out a text, with my own complaints, about how I’m so tired from all the tornados, how I’m sick of standing alone, in the ceiling, with no solidarity, while hell unleashes below me, because everyone I know (but me, apparently) is afraid of talking like adults about their grown up gaffes, none of which are mine, so why am I here? And why did you bring this to my door? And don’t you know I’m too old and too jaded for this drama?

They’re complaining again. I think they’ve had cider, and I’m an enabler, because I got it for them, to save an argument, because even in my ceiling, I’m afraid, just like them, even though I stayed, I’m afraid, I’m just looking for a quiet life. A quiet life is a luxury I will never afford, in this economy.

Posted in Blog

The Noise

I don’t want to die, by any means, but I have not really enjoyed being alive, for quite some time.

I feel like I’m on a constant track, that deviates, in a sense, every now and then, but never to a place that makes sense, just to a noise.

I know that makes no sense, but this place, is a noise. A long, constant, deafening but quiet noise.

It’s a noise that wraps itself around me, demanding my attention, demanding resources I never had, demanding energy I don’t know how to give, and I try.

I try to give the noise what it wants, but it deviates, in a sense, always asking for something different, before I’ve even began handing over my offering.

I don’t want to die, by any means, but I think that’s what the noise wants me to do. I don’t want to die, by any means, but I think the noises that pull me in so many directions, until I’m hysterical and frayed, would like me to.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Cover Me In White Roses

Cover me in white roses,

when it’s all over,

when the sun stops spinning around me,

and the stars dress in dark lace.

Make me a garden,

where things go to say goodbye,

in the chapel,

where we first kissed,

racked with guilt,

because our love always felt secret,

even when everybody knew,

and you know I want the drama,

even when I’m not around to enjoy it.

Tell them that you loved me,

your tears trying to save those that can never grow again,

tell them that you loved me,

if it’s really true,

or even if it isn’t,

because if this is the last time,

that anyone is obligated to think of me,

can’t I be loved,

entirely,

for the first time?

Posted in Blog

Dream, My Darling

You’ll never learn to be happy,

because you’re happiest when you’re heartbroken.

It just brings something to the surface,

a cynical siren call,

that you can’t resist,

and you will make the same journey,

so many times,

on just a few hours sleep,

and a few cigarettes,

shuttled between scenes that all end the same,

because you’re at your best,

when you’re self destructive.

You’ll never learn to be happy,

but you’ll learn to pretend,

when the situation requires it.

Smiling will always feel unfamiliar,

but you’ll find room in your back pocket,

for a book of excuses,

that explains away the unnatural way you go from distant to dream come true.

I wish I had better news,

but there’s a lot going on,

and you’ll still always feel like everything happens too fast,

that you don’t belong,

that life is better when you live in stasis,

slowly slipping further into sleep,

until it is all you can do.

You may as well,

because you’ll never learn to be happy,

and the world never learns to be exciting enough to keep you awake,

so,

dream,

my darling,

dream.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

The Night Has a Thousand Eyes

I break branches,

in my sleep,

with soft steps,

that tried to be gentle.

I am walking,

wistful,

in the woods,

warm winds upon my shoulders,

from the fire of the forest.

Burning branches,

pray for their fallen friends,

on the ground,

as the world grows smaller,

the night grows darker,

my mind goes faster.

There is a fire,

that lights up the once cold night.

I don’t remember the beginning,

but I cannot stop myself from being engulfed.

Flames decorate my dress,

trailing up and down,

like bridal lace.

I just want it to be over,

but the night will never end.