•June 19, 2016 • 3 Comments

I cant remember the last time I felt this close to breaking. The last ditch effort defense mechanism where conscious self gets shoved hard into the dark and another takes over.

I can’t remember the last time I was so thoroughly out of energy to cope that it became time to shut down entirely.

Why am I so weak?


•March 11, 2016 • 1 Comment

The sound of the dryer makes me panic
My heartbeat makes me nervous

The only thing that can bring me down
Is the sound you make
When I’ve said something right

It’s not quite silence
It’s coffee black
And the breath that follows is
Actual love

Outside there are sirens
Inside, the loudest keyboard
And I’m tucked so far into
The corner of the couch

Trying remember
Exactly what you smell like
Exactly what it felt like
When I crushed into your chest

And I’m scrawling on the receipt
From the morning after
Because I think someday
I’d like to tell you
I’d like to tell you that

You are Actual Love
You are Actually Love

•January 25, 2016 • Leave a Comment

This is a repeat of a lot of the same imagery and even lines but, very early this morning she was back. She was back and I can’t say no, especially when she was gone for so long. Manticore is awake.

Now sleep
But every dream is a staircase
And I’m counting the descent
And at the bottom
something wants to eat me
And I am the thing at the bottom

Farther down is a man
And that man
Has blood
That burns
Like Autumn glory

And I
Am so
Very hungry

Somewhere far away
The clocks are winding
The indigo is waking
The black waters stir

Hashtag Crush

•November 7, 2014 • Leave a Comment

“This is a problem”

I breathe into the pillow

“This is a problem”

I breathe

Face buried in the pillow

I don’t want to hear it myself

This is a mistake



I snag my sweater

On the what ifs

The what ifs

of You

If you

It’s too early

I am drifting

The sun is up

My eyes are setting

Falling asleep

With the pen in my hand


•September 24, 2014 • 1 Comment

The grinding teeth sharpening to points is just my body’s preparation
Preparing I’m sure
I’m to become something
Blackened gnarled arms claw at the sky

Keep moving forward

•June 9, 2014 • 1 Comment


I’ve been having this conversation with myself a lot lately:
“Bad day.”
“No, you just dropped a glass.”
“Bad day!”
“Nope, the sheet is just too short.”
“Can it be a bad day now?”
“No, one hairy shower at work does not ruin your day.”
It’s hard but policing myself this way and forcing myself to be positive (or at least rational) does make life easier.

Things are weird. The person I was talking to frequently needs space and time to sort out his life. He has huge changes coming up and I’m not sure that there’s room for me in his plans.

Keep moving forward.

No promotion. I don’t think I’m going to see one this season unless I apply for porter. (No thank you.)

Keep moving forward.

I should call home. And also my bank. And W. And basically anyone familiar because I feel like I’m drifting out of myself. Maybe I’m just becoming me.

Big little

•April 27, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I’m having all of these big dreams lately. I know I should be taking my meds but dreams are exciting and my hair isn’t falling out as aggressively as it was. Hopefully the structure of working will help manage the bi polar. If I can just keep moving, I won’t be able to curl into a ball and sob. Anyway I’m out of the worst of the withdrawal, now just comes the management.

Write a book; start a webcomic; couch surf; fall in love; adventure. These are the things that preoccupy me. I am gripped with terrible wanderlust. I’m too still and I have no direction. It’s crushing. I need to move and experience. I have the time, I have the freedom, I would just need to make the money as I go along. We’ll see. I’m sure it can work.

I’m a week away from leaving and it can’t happen soon enough. My house is extremely tense. No one can speak to my mother. We’ve all scattered to our corners. This isn’t healthy.

My Okc account is open and I’ve been chatting regularly with someone. I’m learning a lot about myself. A big solid realization hit me that I have never been a single adult. I don’t actually know what I want in a partner because I’ve not experienced an adult relationship. How weird is that? I was nearly married. I was partnered for 12 years but I don’t know anything about adult relationships. Outside of Okc, The Crush burns on. I’ve caught myself asking if I love him. I don’t know. I don’t think I know what love feels like. A terrified part of me hopes so intensely that it’s because the meds dulled me too much. It hopes beyond hope that I’m not incapable of feeling certain things. Greater than that even it hopes that there is something to feel to begin with.


•April 22, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Hey guys. I feel like an ass for doing this but I have a little problem. In about two weeks I begin my employment adventure in Yellowstone National Park. Unfortunately I’ve come up about $150 short in travel expenses with no current income to cover it. No income to fund the travel to get to the job that provides the income. Not cool. It’s such a small amount that I feel ridiculous asking, but that tiny amount stands between me and my direction.

Here’s the link if you’d like to help. ❤ http://www.gofundme.com/8k5qvw


•March 10, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I awake
In bizarre indigo gardens.
Flowers with heads split wide
Screech imploringly to a glitter
black sky.

I wait for her,

The mother of claws and feathers.
The man she hunted,
A coppery dream lingering in her cheek.
A plasma love.
(all mine)
(to the bone)

In my chest, muscle stutters
in attempts to follow
the ticking pulse of the mirrored faces,
Darting from every peripheral glance.


I’ve come to her,
Her child with a field of face irrigated in aggravated tears.
To the mother of claws and feathers
I’ve brought my nightmares.
“Kill them,” I cry. “They know my name. They eat me alive.”

All fanged affection,
Pure jagged maternal love,
She is to the sky.
A soothing glint of murderous nurturing.

And the very last thing the demons will sing,
“Is that the soft beating of mighty wings?”

Organ Thief

•March 8, 2014 • 1 Comment

I own trauma shears

Black water organ cooler

Shrieking harpy mouth

Filled with razor lipped love

Give me

Give me

Give me


We can take the superfluous organs

And replace them with mirrors



Hollowed eyes to hold the peat

The secret mirrors reflecting back

Gardens full of clocks ticking

And wings beating



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I have people to kill, lives to ruin, plagues to bring, and worlds to destroy. I am not the Angel of Death. I'm a fiction writer.

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