the idea of god 3/18/26.
Being alone is the closest I think I can get to god.
The closest she gets to God is through the thumbs on her pulse points
Devotion, devotion, devotion; he whispers in her ear, a shiver that wholly corrupts
She gets close to God, and now I only pray to the empty space between my digits and the shining silver blade promising salvation
She gets close to God! and I can only ask Jesus to get the shotgun
Devotion, devotion, devotion
Hark! I say to all who listen: Remember God is Good and I am Greedy
My absence always craves excess, and they who see can all tell my skin is taut and ready; not willing
And my excess, oh, my excess craves God. oh God. God, can you rape me?
LATER I ask the preacher, does he not curl his tongue at this panting desperation? Does he not look down upon us with regret?
At I, I who was born shot, branded, and naked
And who wants so badly to be clothed
I ask him to ask God, "Please God, why have you made me?"
He only says Later, and Quick! Let us not tarry. It is not later, for it is Now, and now the preachers thumb parts my lips and presses down hard. oh it's so hard
NOW A rose opens to the sun, a brilliant, burning sun, and I say oh but you must tell me everything, and he only says "Child, you're not ready"
I ponder these things silently: Do those fingers not burn on my skin? Is this not a sin?
God, god. Good god.
And now it is later, and prithee, Jesus, I have but one request: can you get not but the shotgun? I fear, OH god, I fear that I'm damned...
Devotion, devotion, devotion
...
and NOW: Rejoice!
- authors note: i've been thinking a lot about devotion, and worship, and religion lately. this piece is in progress, i will likely edit as my thoughts shift around
Ugly 11/12/25.
Shriveled and dead
Birds peck at my eyes and eat from my hand
I was born ugly
I'll die that way too
I wish I could
See through better eyes
Touch with better hands
And breathe with love and not want to die
I don't know who I am
Maybe a deer in headlights struck and dead on the side of the road
Breathing is becoming harder
Why won't you touch me?
My last breath will be her first
With love, I do not want to die
I'm in the grass and
Rotting in it
Please believe me
When I say that
I try so hard to be loved
So why won't you touch me?
Her touch feels like a kiss...
So why won't you touch me?
I hit a deer the other day
On the north-bound road
It saw me drive up
And it stood still- still- still- still- still- still-
- authors note: i've learned from personal experience that lack of physical intimacy and communication in relationships does in fact lead to self-consciousness and insecurities. in case anyone was wondering.
To be known 10/21/25.
Socks pale pink and blood red, stained, pain
Flavored milk like kerosene
A apple under her tongue, toes muddied with juice
She doesn't know who she is
Yellow, pink, blue, or gray
Cracking skin, hair fading away,
She just wants to be known as...
Help me understand
She just wants to be known as...
Teeth marked a plumish taste, bitter and viscous
Lace and ribbon
Bite the bullet, ash and pray
Aging jeans and tulle pink skirts
Broken nails grown too tall and caked with dirt
A red marked face, a moon-eyed stare
She just wants to be known as...
What does she want to be known as?
Help me understand
What does she want to be known as?
Help her understand
Help her understand
Help her understand
Hello?
Hello?
- authors note: i think we all have an identity crisis from time to time. mine's lasted 21 years
a message unsent 8/28/25.
Leave a voicemail after the beep:
(beep!)
I walked on the the block where your house is the other day. It hurt a little less this time. ... A little.
(click)
I drank too much tea today and nothing else. My hands won't stop shaking. Is this what it feels like to live?
(click)
People laugh when my back is turned. They've done it my whole life. I'm starting to realize I never found it very funny...
(click)
I miss you sometimes. ... I think you took a part of me and forgot to give it back when you left. Can you give it back? I promise I won't call you again.
(click)
A- something keeps pushing her down into the water... I- I think she's drowning and I don't know what to do, how to help her, please-
(click)
It's beginning to be- well- I feel like it's really-
(click)
Hello?
Hello?
...
Who do you think I am?
...What?
Please stop calling me. I don't know you.
- authors note: ngl i think i predicted my own breakup with this one. #psychic
a heart is a heavy burden 8/24/25.
Heavy
I sit
My body is heavy
Eyes are blotted out
And heart is taut
Tell me to stand
And I'll stand and
Someone tell me to stand
Please tell me to stand
Someone tell me to stand
Please tell me to stand
Someone tell me to stand
Please someone tell me to stand
Give me a hand and-
and-
and-
I sit heavy
I sit heavy
I sit heavy
I-
I-
I-
I-
I-
(i feel heavy)
- authors note: i think i was crying the entire time i wrote this LOL
To be used is 8/24/25.
A drum washed up on the rusty shore
Dirty and fingered with sweat and musk, tinged with red and hollow gut
She was carved out with mastication, a gaping hollowed hole, wooden scars chiseled from tender touch
With it the smell of dried blood
A wolf,
Lost in the cold, bones hardening, caught in chill
is drawn to her
A husk, barely beating but still a soul
Stumbles over
Wolf hungers, laps at the red, and curls against her for warmth
A drum creaks with recognition, and swallows dread, as teeth graze the skin, and claws sink in
A heart flutters and begins to beat, back to life
And euphoria tinges her satisfaction at being neat
Ba bum ba bum
Ba bum ba bum
Eyelids open and linger over her, life is lapped up till none is left, and its face is stained with powder and wet
It jumps into the water and washes out the color till none is left
Alive again, whole again, the wolf leaves the shore and runs into the forest, untouched and unburdened by the past
The drum is tender, and the wound is raw, fresher still
She falls back to embrace the water
Ready to be used again
Ready to be beaten
- authors note: wrote this three months before my ex gf broke up w me. i never feel like i as a person matter in any of my few romantic relationships. i never seem to have the same impact on them as they do me. the wolf comes out unchanged but healed and yet i feel like a part of me has been lost forever. #lovergirl #doievendeservelove #maybenot #lol
shame. 1/20/25.
Ignorance is ash; and it is impossible to ignore
What a wretched horrid painting I am.
Crafted from bitter teeth and an alcoholic faith,
I am, but a black lamb set out for slaughter.
My psyche was enraptured by the act of you, and yet
You tied my wrists together with thyme, placed
a golden apple between my lips, and fled to the forest.
You swallowed three of my pearls.
Brushstrokes inexhaustibly finite, the canvas
captures an empty circle.
I have never desired more than now to be the lion devouring the sun.
Ode to my lady ?/?/24.
When I was adrift in a conscious shell
My lady, angelic and saintly, drank the water from my lungs, breathed air down my throat
And welcomed my mortality
Sloth, envy, and sin, she looked into my agape eyes
And realized.
She claims we are but dead stars
Embracing the sky that birthed us
My lady held my hand and raised me to touch the heavens
The vault
An apotheosis, a culmination of existence: it applauded us.
For now, my lady hungers
And my devotion, unshaken
She fights, she conquers, but shall not be forsaken
My lady caresses my cerebrum
And bites down hard
writing
Open Vacancy ?/?/22.
Failing to fill the void vacant in his mind; he found her
And with her lust for love, he looked, to take control
He held her heart in his hand, and it was celestial
The heavenly spirits soared and said salutations! Star-crossed souls
Vivid veins pulsed beneath; convenient, not genuine
Then he held her heart in his hand and ran in a fashion almost beastial
"Here, have your heart," [he said] and [she says] "Is this even mine?"
She doesn't know who she is anymore and "Maybe that's fine."
O' holy spirit ?/?/21.
O holy spirit that haunts these sacred halls,
who preforms in the raw winter winds by the gallows-
Let me hold your hand; for we traverse the path hung with rich silken palls
and trod on when the woods grow shallow.
And hark! A river close ahead! We shall owe
a coin to the ferryman.
For we are no longer young, apathetic, and callow,
as we were when we began.
Salt ?/?/21.
A sable figure lined with white grasped her shoulders
her throat closing in on itself and being sewn together with threats of saltwater and sand.
Vital veins scream in synchronization whilst the bitter tears fill her lungs,
and the sea embraced new company.
The winter came forth and a blizzard washed away the crimson clouds.
Hot winds become cold,
and yet,
the gentleman's hand felt as warm as the hearth.
- authors note: when i was kid i had a lot of nightmares about people i knew hurting me. most of them didn't come true
Pluto's Rejoice ?/?/20.
The milky way skips across her mortal soul, and encompassed her entire being of morbidity and loss.
In another world, a man plays piano by the lake.
Blue roses haunt the waters as the sky glitters a baritone tune.
Crimson clouds are everywhere, everything.
The piano-man wipes teats away with skeleton fingertips, and suddenly veins become much more than human.
A crown of spirits was thrust upon her head as blue roses bear witness to their secret crime.
- authors note: this is very romantic to me
wedding rings ?/?/20.
When the sun strikes the despondent sea, he spills flowers behind his eyelids and disappears with his alarm clock.
His ears lay forgotten on the bedside table, but he never forgets his hands.
On him, she smells smoke reminiscent of lost Saturday afternoons, and sneaking kisses becomes a foggy fantasy.
Bands of golden promises lay forsaken in sand and soot, waiting to be drowned somewhere,
Between the devil and the deep blue waters.
- authors note: from an old series entitled "a narrative of lovers who never had it quite right". other older ones might be part of it as well, but i am unsure
Stained Glass Window ?/?/19.
She was an assemblage of Aphrodite and Ares, stripped insde and out of gold and glass.
A gentleman sang holy praises of allure and passion to dulcify his darling, while their love began to fulminate with the colors of spring blossoms and chaste kisses.
Under the Stygian stars he clasped their hands together, and vowed to love her for always.
Adoration crystalized, she cried YES!
YES! I'll love you!
Mars and Venus dance as lovers unite, and as long as the stars mirrored in his eyes remain, she'll love him eternally.
aftermath?/?/18.
The inside of a lonely man appears different to each pair of eyes that see it.
One might penetrate their way into a soul and find a lone field mouse, while another could puncture a peep-hole and see a collection of concentric circles.
One could crawl inside of a lonely man and find a winter so cruel and unforgiving that he blinds your very being with intrusions of lunacy.
This lonely man collected patterned baskets, each with vague and opaque ophidian shapes.
His lungs are but a consolidation of marcescent honeysuckle and blooming mold. His heart an arcane devotion to champagne;
The eyes that looked upon these grave-yard like innerworkings had but one query:
What could compel someone to be so set on inter-dimensional self-destruction?
- authors note: if other me's are out there, i wonder if they feel the way i do sometimes. hollow. different. like an abomination programmed for suicide.
GOLDEN RED ?/?/17.
The world is dire, the room spins, his head is red and heart is gold
The man materializes in a carnival for spirits, and
the only spectator with blood and bone
is his best friend because the digits circling his palm
beat more earnestly than any fists he's ever embraced
The man is vanishing in a carnival for spirits, and
his best friend whispers I love you as his eyes mature into lapis lazuli
The world is turning, and his friend begs his absence
You must run, depart, or a spectator will jump down your throat
and envelop your heart
He doesn't know where he's going as the heat crawls into his lungs
but he knows he doesn't want to go there
The world is red, and his friend says you must leave
But he turns and falls
Disorder!
Drowning in golden reservoir gritty and hollow
Hanging near-nether to kiiss his head are the yellow stars,
questionable, while Lucifer's bloody digits curl into retractable fists
He's below a carnival for spirits, and the clouds are everywhere,
everything
Lucifer's red lips puncture every layer of skin his friend had caressed,
and the man finds the spit akin to acid
His mind is a crystallized collection of gold and red, and with a thrum,
the glass shatters singing requium
He is a spectator in a carnival for spirits, of which neither
Lucifer nor his friend shall attend
- authors note: remember i felt pretty gay writing this