“As life gets longer, awful feels softer. Well it feels pretty soft to me. And if it takes shit to make bliss, then I feel pretty blissfully.”

2 many feelings


Another broken mirror…. It’s not the seven years of bad luck that got me worried, no, I’m more worried about the mess and the many weeks I’ll spend stepping on broken glass with my bare feet. Cause let’s be honest, no one will clean up, we’re all just laying in bed too comfortable to move.

It’s 9am and I’m sitting on my favorite chair picking out pieces of broken glass from the soles of my feet. It don’t hurt much. I’m more worried about the bloody footprints scattered throughout the floors of my messy apartment.

It’s the middle of the night, you’re fast asleep, on your side. I’m crying because we’re killing ourselves slowly and we don’t care. I’m crying cause the dope ran out and my bank account is in the negatives. I’m crying cause I can’t remember the last time we laughed or the last time you picked up your guitar.

Three days ago, I sat at home alone and awoke with blue lips and cold limbs. Today sure feels like a dream, but I’m not sleeping and somehow my heart is still beating, a little slow, but I’m still breathin’.

***One of my favorite humans in the world left today, to get better. I am so incredibly proud of him. I’ll get my best friend back. I’ll be here, in Burque town. Got another reason to stay sober, so that coming home will be easier for you than it was for me. Love you kiddo, we’re gonna be alright.***



I spoke with my father recently, he said to me, over the phone:

“I’m sorry I passed down the burden of infinite sadness. It never leaves me. It’ll never leave you. But don’t hate it, it’s part of who you are. Someone will come along who will make it easier to to sit with, one day, I promise. Your mother did that for me, but I couldn’t help her feel lighter. So it goes… All you can do, is wait. Let the sadness stir up your insides. Learn to let it consume you in the best possible way.”

Ceilings and feelings 5/11/17

You left a message on my machine,

damn kid, I can feel your sorrow through the static between us.

Another night staring at cracked ceilings and blue screens.

It’s okay to be sad, you don’t gotta pretend.

I know it hurts when you lay in you empty bed waiting for sleep to save you from yourself.

You are not alone,

we’re all just waiting to die.

We are all just pieces of flesh waiting to rot.

lost letters #35

Hey you! (you know who you are),

I am writing you this letter for many reasons, one of them being that I am a hopeless romantic and sad sappy sucker and sending and receiving mail is probably one of my favorite things to do in the entire planet. I am also choosing snail mail as a means of communication because time is what I need on this occasion. So without further to do, here goes nothing:

You must hold the record for most letters written (by yours truly), but never sent, than any other person I know. Not sure what that means, but there you have it. You also have managed to infiltrate the teeny tiny crevices of my temporal lobe so deeply, you are typically the first name and face that comes to mind when I awake and before I fall sleep. You have provided so much writing material I stopped counting how many poems, short stories, novellas, prose I have written about you the last few months. I have laid awake at night and pondered why you’ve had such a lasting effect on my memory and my being  although you came in and out of my life as quickly and unexpectedly as you arrived. No concrete answers yet, but I do have a few speculations. Care to know?

1. Because I met you early in my sobriety, at a very, very vulnerable state, I mean I was hanging on to life by a thread and you made me feel hopeful and safe and you just got it. You understood what it was like to be in the sort of pain that comes with years of abusing drugs and alcohol.

2. Because I’m sober as fuck and I ain’t got no dope or alcohol pumping through my veins, I have way too much time to obsess over missed opportunities (aka you).

3. Because it is easier to worry and care about someone other than myself.

4. Because I fell in love with you.

5. I met you at a time in my life that never really happened, and all of this is a dream and we’re both a fraction of some little boy’s imagination in an alternate universe… We stole our faces from people we saw in passing.

My favorite speculation is five; the nihilist in me is still very alive and well. Speculations 1, 2, and 3 are all very reasonable and probably accurate but they are just not as fun. We won’t talk about 4 because it scares the fuck out of me and it probably scares you more.

Thank you for leaving an 18sec message on my machine, you provided more writing material. You see, I have this thing were I can’t ever really hate anyone who inspires me to create any kind of art even if I have to suffer and cry night after night for it/them/you. I’m curious to hear about what you’ve been doing now that days are warmer and the nights are longer. Since I am a low key narcissist, here’s what I’ve been up to:

1. CREATING-mostly writing (I write so much I can’t keep up, it’s insane), taking photos here and there. Sometimes I even plant seeds and hope that they will grow.

2. Running- I am training for a half marathon (that’s 13.5 miles my dude) that will take place August 13th, that’s the day after my 24th birthday, it feels symbolic or some shit.

3. Going on extremely long walks for someone with nothing to think about.

4. Staying sober. This is the least exciting part of my life, and the most significant. I am doing it because I am terrified of what will happen if I take a drink, and because I told myself I’d do it for a year. When people ask what sobriety is like, my answer always is: OH SO INCREDIBLY BORING.

5. Riding out manic depressive episodes. Mental health issues and chemical imbalances are a son of bitch, that’s all I got to say about that.

6. Getting tattoos- I love self-inflicted pain (surprise surprise!), especially the kind that end with beautiful works of art.

7. Listening to Race by Alex G on repeat, Bright Eyes and Modest Mouse too. Nothing new here move along.

I thought I would finally get to talk to you in person, maybe. I told myself not to invest myself in that possibility too much, but because I’m all or nothing, these kinds of things are impossible for someone like me. You didn’t answer, and you didn’t reply to my messages. I am not surprised, but I can’t help what I feel. There I go again, breaking my own heart, crying over broken promises that don’t fucking exist. With that I’m out.

Oh and guess what???

You won’t stop hurting yourself until you’re done hurting yourself because it hurts way too much. I like hurting myself way too much. Do you?

amor like fuck,


Monday blues 

Threw my dignity out with the broken glass this morning.

My rules don’t apply to you. Please, come by, sleep in my bed, tell me you love me and don’t call me again for another week or two.

I mean I’m just another girl with a record player who thinks she’s different from the rest cause she’s well read. No one gives a fuck about my grammar.

Quentin the cat is gone.

tar & honey


And the leaves the purple leaves

they break, bodies so delicate.

Honey. Honey it aches.

It aches it aches it aches,

to be alone with my thoughts at night.

But it’s been so long,

I forgot how to say hello.

Goodbyes; they once broke my back,

my spine arched. Unnaturally arched.

To cradle, to hold me still.

But now, goodbyes,

they wrap around me, caress.

They support, protect, my shattered insides.


they aren’t real anymore.

Smiles are carefully constructed, never born.

Hello, I can’t give you anything, I ain’t got nothing left

to give.