Excerpts from my blocks of words that sometimes have titles with more words than the excerpt.


Today I saw a man sitting alone-
Yes sir, this is another ‘one of those.’
He was made of gristle, teeth, and bone,
But pale and faded and without a throne.
The air escaping from his lips as he whispered to himself seemed to come
Not from his lungs,
But the space beneath his skin.-
Not an exhalation,
but rather a deflation.
He stared at no one, no book, no phone,
Not at some invisible train of thought,
But an empty space he, himself, had brought,
packed inside his chest
and unpacked as if he could somehow find rest.
A burdened life trailed behind him,
Came to curl around the legs of his chair,
Content but growing more insistent,
As if it were holding him there.
And when he stood with heavy effort,
that blank space disappeared-
he’d swallowed it back down with practice-
with acceptance, and not fear.

1 year ago

New Pack

Twenty moments of satisfaction guaranteed
In one neat, rectangular

1 year ago

What is a certainty,
But is neither constant,
Nor consistent?

The simple answer is ‘Clouds.’

But, see, all that lies between each letter is the true answer.

1 year ago


I want to smoke you to the filter.
In one drag,
Trade the physical harm
For momentary satisfaction.
The void is full,
Just for a moment.
I want to wrap myself around you-
For once, stretch myself
Instead of stretching the devices of my vices.
I want to feel you are too much, in the best way-
A bittersweet tinge,
Ripping through the caves of my body-
A deep yawn, set on fire.
But, inevitably,
The exhale..
Leaving me with this void again,
Ripped open further to make room
For my eagerness to take advantage of the chance
To finally feel..
Leaving me to deal with the rapidly solidifying consequences of this cycle
Through rotted flesh
And an empty stare,
Still craving more.

1 year ago

Two Truths and a Lie.

Methodic swishing plays itself into background music, your silence the predominant sound.

Centerstage, just the way you hate it, as I wait for a chance to psychoanalyze you in the most innocent of ways.

i want to reach forward and grab your hand, but you need none of my help on the stage-fright stunted journey that I, for all intents and purposes, forced on you.

And then you’re gone, and I fight the urge to wonder what words tumble gruffly

or sweetly

from your lips,

rolling a thousand miles before they reach the right ears.

Nosy, or too invested, and not remotely sure which,

I fight the urge to wonder at those ears, and what they’re doing.-

Painting toenails or sipping or creamy or black coffee.

Maybe tea.

The pattern of the swishing changes,

and you are back.

2 years ago


Flatten your palms, child,
Flatten them on my back.
Don’t hug me with your fists-
Love is not an attack.
Flatten your palms, child.
Don’t be afraid of giving secrets.
They may be pressed into my skin,
But be at peace- that’s where I’ll leave ‘em.
Flatten your palms, child,
Feel my life as it beats through,
And know that all I’ve lived,
I’ve done to pass the stories to you.
Flatten your palms, child.
Flatten them on my back.
Don’t hug me with your fists-
Love is not an attack.

2 years ago

Memories That Still Hold the Weight of Forever on Their Back.

Remember when I told you I love the taste of your tongue? What I didn’t say is that I loved it because you taste like something temporary. You taste like the smell of rain and a little bit like metal- which isn’t temporary, but it isn’t enough to hold you here.

Your smile is bright, and white, and long, but it doesn’t last. Neither does a shooting star and neither will the taste of your tongue. 

You were never meant to be a forever thing- never had a forever kind of kiss. I don’t think I’ll ever know what that tastes like. But you will. I can see it in your walk. You’re going somewhere forever, if you’ll give it the time. I’m meant to wander like the wind, and it’s what I’ll do until the end of the winter in my soul. See, the closest I’ve ever had to a forever kiss was with that winter. It’s a combination of every first kiss I’ve ever had. Never gathered that kind of satisfaction from a second or a third. Or even a hundredth.

I want to taste streetlamps and battery acid and birthday cake kisses. I want to run my tongue across square white blades of grass and smoke and lost civilizations. 

But you only taste of metallic rain- it’s better than gasoline, which I have sipped from endless coffee cups- but it will never change, and I will never grow. And so I will grow tired, and that’s just the way it happens with people made of wind.

2 years ago


His hell-smoke thick gaze

speaks so loudly to his disposition,

a liquid seduction

into the crumbling, broken labyrinth of his mind,

a beckoning from his shredded soul that leaves you yearning to understand,

that one is already in the middle of a heart-song for him

before they even notice the words sharpied onto the front

of his yellowed and frayed wifebeater.


(Source: wordsfromanobody)

2 years ago


Maybe logic is overrated and entirely too fallible.

Maybe emotion is too chaotic.

Maybe both are a whirlwind,

Maybe they are balanced-

a bird of flight with a beak of inherent knowledge.


(Source: wordsfromanobody)

2 years ago


Playing a sick game with my second self.

Seeing if she can decieve me-

paint my reality lonely

and bare,

and I catch her just in time.

She almost had me fooled,

almost killed my sanity,

but I caught her.

This time.

She rearranges things in my memory-

time, words, excuses…

And she’ll twist them to fit

a heartbreaking mold

of deceitful friends

and quietly hateful family.

And maybe sometimes I miss a thing or two she changes.

Or maybe I just believe it.

But that doesn’t mean much..

Truth is, it’s not a bad game.

I’m just worried about what happens

when I lose.

(Source: wordsfromanobody)

2 years ago