This particular poem means a lot to me, because, as far as I know it was the last poem I … Continue Reading I Write Poetry, Weird.
The first thing I noticed was that I was sad. The second thing I noticed was that I was sick. The third thing I noticed was that I was funny.
But here I am, 28 years old standing before the opening doors of closeted memories. Memories worse than my nightmares, worse than what I had thought I escaped. Memories I thought I killed and buried have been dug out of their graves.
DAYS ( I wrote this about nine years ago now but I still think it’s worth sharing despite its age. … Continue Reading Days
TRIGGER WARNING: The recordings I am sharing here are not suitable for most likely any audience. Though they are readings … Continue Reading Scarred 4 Lyfe: 2003
Confessions Over Tea Baby left rime Round the edges of infinity Disguised as pearls And hanged herself From your … Continue Reading “Confessions Over Tea”
I remember the first time I inquired about suicide, I was 7 or 8 years old. I still shared a room with my sister.
My diary from 2016 is one of the most disruptively sorrowful journals, filled with entries dedicated to fear.
Growing up in Browns Mills, New Jersey, the pine barrens, I was made to believe that I lived in a … Continue Reading My Childhood Defunct