Oh, i can’t stop my skin from falling,

I can’t help but let my eyes sink in

Darling, we were never so enthralling—

Let the darkness close on in


If you can see the battles won

In the eyes of the ones you’ve lost

then the road ahead for all of us

Is covered in tracks of dust


There’s no revolution in the arms of the dead

It’s the living that keep on living

Searching for things that may

Looking into the eyes of the livid

And thrashing as they fade away


There’s no hope for the restless

When rest is the only answer

But momma I have a fear of falling

So my weakness has sprouted faster


No glowing golden wings to stop my plight

God created god and we’re left to ask, why?


I have so many questions

But I’m so afraid to fear

So I close my eyes to blind myself

and hope the end is near


Dead Thoughts Still Live

I look out the window and see the sky, and I’m reminded of outer space. The stars, absent from the blackened abyss, call out silently as my deaf ears strain to listen. How could it be, that I’d forgotten of the universe around me? That the beam of light that struck my eyes was something more than a glass illusion hanging delicately from my concrete box like a purposeless limb dangling from a dead tree. I’m reminded of all the things it would seem my mind would rather forget, those obvious truths that stare so violently into my eyes while my vision ever so purposefully blurs so as to deflect what will hit them regardless. I’m aware of my heartbeat, and the blood—all that blood—flowing in circles beneath my skin as I latch to each breath and hope to survive to the next. I concentrate harder, and I swear I can feel my very compositional molecules decomposing within me; the crick crack of my bones causing my limbs to creak and groan with the effort of remaining whole, despite the constant pressure I assert on them. Coiled, shadowy hands find the taste of my body simply divine as they feed off of me, jerking me down when I attempt to fly and holding me to the earth when I acquiesce to their pull, stretching out, stretching thin to the ground as my physical self tries to reconvert to its original state while my soul says not yet, not yet, keeping me together, holding my body like the hand that clutches at shattered glass in the attempt to erase the damage done. I’m feeling too much, I can’t take it—how have I not imploded? Tears streak down my face, uncalled, unwanted, but there all the same, but those hands that tie me down won’t allow me to wipe away their traces; the wetness on my skin makes me uncomfortable, it makes me tired—I want to sleep. But my tears, like lone soldiers trekking home, find their way to the edge of their world—my face—and free fall, and are met with the good earth, and strangely I feel relieved, like a part of me was able to go home, even though the rest must stay, just a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer. I look to the sky and I wonder at my own ability to shroud my consciousness; ignore that calling into the darkness that whispers ever so softly into my ear as I turn my head, that knowledge that this must end, and soon. I want it. But I’m afraid. My fingers convolve at that word, and, stung like the bitter end of a whip, my mind recoils before lashing back, stomping down at the feeling as I fight for control again. I can’t fear I can’t fear I can’t fear it is natural. What is? Fear? Or darkness. Both call to me and this time my ears are not sewn shut, it’s far too late for that now. I breathe in and I can feel them invading my black body, shifting and turning here and there as they become comfortable inhabitants in me. My mouth opens in a silent moan and I can feel more than see that serpent rise from my mouth, black as night as it lashes itself out of me, choking me in its endeavor to drag the words so hated by my unwilling tongue: I fear. It tumbles messily out of my mouth and the serpent, displeased, lashes again, making me repeat myself over and over and over I am afraid I am afraid, and, finally someone help. I shut my mouth and close my eyes as I lay just above the earth and wait for it to swallow me whole. This word, help, is forbidden in the realm of the free. With freedom comes payment. Payment is loneliness. To ask to be saved from it is to beg for time in Hell, complete with disgust, betrayal, fear, and, most of all, hurt. It hurts. A pain like no other, it is so remarkable it leaves me feeling like a million microscopic holes had been punctured into my body; it looks alright but I will always know they’re there, I will always know there’s no helping me. Fuck that. Fuck the serpent that lies in wait on the tip of my tongue, that weakness that is fear that forces me to call out despite my knowledge of the fact that no one will come to my rescue. My soul, so tired, shakes in its confines and asks me to be still. I am. Though sleep won’t help my weariness, I fall into that grey pit regardless, hoping to be whisked away to a universe entirely my own, where hurt, loneliness, and fear are only things of deeper, darker nightmares.


The Hardest Things to Say

How do you tell your parents that you don’t agree with the beliefs by which they so proudly raised you?

How do you tell your teachers the curriculum is biased and one-sided?

How do you tell your friend that their “funny” comment was insulting?

How do you tell your significant other you feel alone?

How do you say these things that weigh so heavily on your heart without destroying the life that has been building around you since birth?

You don’t want to rock the boat. Life is most enjoyable when lived peacefully. And yet, if these things are on your mind, sooner or later, they have to come out. Just because you keep your mouth and your mind on a tight leash does not mean the link won’t eventually snap—it will. That’s when things have gone too far—when you’ve stayed quiet for too long with no means of release. You think the bitterness is gone, washed from your mind over the course of time. But, these kinds of feelings can’t just disappear. They fester and grow, latching to the parts of your mind left untouched by hate and unhappiness, cluttering the things you loved most about life with their unwelcome embrace.

It’s hard to create conflict in your life, especially when it is done on purpose. But, sometimes, things just need to be said. And it’s not worth feeling bad when you are the catalyst for change.

Reality rises and falls around you like an ocean current; never ending, a constant push and pull that slowly reels you out into open waters, alone, scared, lost—free. Everyone else is drifting in their own oceans, their currents brushing against yours as they try just as hard to stay afloat. Some are born with the privilege of a raft, or a boat, or a small island to hold them above the current. But that doesn’t mean they still don’t feel the slap of the waves against every now and then, either.

Within the just parameters, it’s a good thing to be the catalyst. Say those things which are most defiant on leaving your mouth; they’re the most important words you’ll speak in your life.

3:14 AM [The Void]

Am I wasting my youth?        

It’s 3:14 AM and I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep. The hot sheets are twisted around my ankles, causing just enough contact with my skin to give me comfort without enveloping me in their sweaty entrapment.

I turn on music in an attempt to sleep. It beats and thrums around me in atmospheric bliss as I try to drown my thoughts. Because, if I’m going to be honest with myself, that’s the main reason I leave my music on all night at almost full volume: to escape my roaming mind.

But nothing ever helps. My mind flies willingly to those thoughts, pulling me deeper into that dark, empty void. It doesn’t matter how emotionally, financially, or emotionally stable I’m feeling in the brightest hours of the day, because the lonely hours of the night grasp at me and drag me back to my weakest state every sleepless night.

It’s the Void.

That empty space where my mind retreats when I’m conveniently alone and feeling lost. It takes this vulnerable hour to question my motives, my dreams, my accomplishments and ask—are they worth it? Do they really mean anything?

I’ve spent my entire life learning about Plato and Socrates and many other philosophers with all their outlandish notions about existentialism and the supposed duty of man. But, no one ever taught me how to deal with these musings myself; how to fight off the darkness that invades my pores as I huddle in the recess of my mattress every night.

I can’t imagine any conscious human being able to avoid these thoughts.

But, there is always a saving grace in the end: either falling far into the void until merciful sleep hauls me back out again, or the intrusive light of the rising sun. Either would eventually snap me back into reality; a place where I know things to be true.

It’s so easy, to be afraid of what we don’t understand—especially when it comes to the mystery of our own minds. Even more so when we begin to question things larger than ourselves: the nature of the world, the meaning of life, the significance of death. It’s also easy to simply take the risk—examine the unknown and find meaning in it; at least become comfortable with the realization that we don’t have all the answers, and we never will.

I used to be afraid of these early mornings. 3:14 AM was my curse; a haunting passing of time I could never avoid, only endure. But, as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to understand that it’s alright to dive into the unknown. This life isn’t made for comfort. It’s made for pain, and heartbreak, and discovery. And there’s a sort of liberation in the knowledge that we don’t know, or feel, or see, everything. It makes life an adventure, with an unlimited amount of things to uncover and explore.