Nothing is good anymore. 
Nothing can be good ever again. 
I have given up on goodness and my place amongst it.
-i finally realized goodness will not have me.



When the man who nurtured you as a child touches you like a man does a women…
It makes you break apart. 
You question ever being together in the first place. 

Because between then and now what you knew and what is, can no longer exist in the same body.

You are suppose to be able to trust those that belong to your blood.

-There is nothing I hold in contempt more, than my own blood. 

And the things I once rationalized and reasoned in my head…

Well, I know nothing of blood.


I think about dying more than I feel your eyes roaming over my body. 

My mind is faraway and alone.

Yours is wondering what it will take to get me to wet your dick.

Irony, that you are more dead than I am inside. 

You can careless if I even have a pulse as long as I’m warm and tight.

I want to rise up out of my skin and dissipate from existence. 

Nothing makes me feel more hopeless, than the feeling of your hand clapping against my ass.

As casual as pulling out your wallet and making a purchase.

It feels so violent but it doesn’t resonate. 

Because I’m imagining how beautiful my blood will look.

Later seeping back into the earth it came from. 

After I free myself from this cage of existence. 

I don’t make a sound as I disregard your existence. 

You are just another repercussion of existence. 

Just another man mimicking the pretence of what is perceived as manhood.

The endless cult of cloned sycophants and cowards

Just another mindless man.

Vulgar, unrefined and uncouth.

A passing touch from your withering hand is the closest you could get to my surreal being.

And that’s why you are so bitter.

Because I rather fantasize about my death than you.


My Thimble

I love watching you break for me.

So lovely and unaware. 
I adore that innocent need. 
The only part of you I can trust is the hurt.
I love you broken.

With no need for power or control.
With nothing but the unveiling of consciousness..
With this stream of being pouring out of you with purity. 
All tears, anger, and need. 
A lost boy for me. 
I’m not growing up and I’m not going away.

But cry for me. 
I’m your Tinkerbell but making you smile isn’t enough.

I’m your Tigerlily but my ferocity surpasses yours. 
So I’m your Wendy, and I worship you with your stories
But fall for me…

My magic is in your beliefs.

Baritone agony

Such sweet words.

Break my heart so swiftly.

Like a crushed petal under your practiced hands.

Teased away from my stem.

How can it feel so good to be handled by skilled hands?

Does my heart ache to be sore and bruised?


It is ready?

It pulses so strongly for your drumsticks, pounding away upon me.

My little drummer boy.
Make music of me.
I begin and end for your genius.
Shall my cries sing you a tune? 
Will you play to my sobs?
Will you play my strings and pull from me impossible riffs?
It feels like it. 
You are never more attentive than when my heart is performing as a chorus for you. 


“I just want to love you. Why do you make it so damn hard? So impossible.”

Why is anything that matter to us impossible?

Why do we have to pour all our being into them, with no promises of success?
How else do they come to life?
Does a mother not spill blood, and give an entirety of her soul to manifest her child into this world?

To bring life from within her, which is a miracle and so impossible.

So why shouldn’t I ask the same of you?
Sacrifice and manifest my love into existence.
It can not come before you and will not come till you, but first sacrifice. 
Be the mother of my love.
Give birth to my adoration for you. 
With your energy within me I shall be your child of unconditional love. 
…But first, will you sacrifice?

Splendor Spell

Such a thing…
Such a beautiful thing…
…To be taken care of.

Gather me up in your light and warmth…
Cacoon me. 
Keep me forever.

Then disappear 
-Because it’s all just a lovely dream I’m waking up from.

Symphony of Woe

Cry my Angel.

Cry my fallimg star.

Sob and let the whole world be rocked away by your mourning.

Let your voice become thunder and your tears the wrath of a hurricane.

Let them pray for the mercy of God in your wake.

That such a beautiful thing can contain such profound pain.

Cry my angel.

Let me witness the chorus of heaven.


 Do you think I’ll love you forever?

That I’ll spend all my life thinking I’m worth so little?

I’ll outgrow my love for you, like I’ll outgrow all the things that are unhealthy for me.

I’ll grow because I have an abundance of love to give.

A whole universe of love, that is too grand for how short you sell yourself.

I’m not the kind of person who settles for less when there is a feast of infinitely more in front of me.

So tell me, do you think I’ll love you forever? When you wouldn’t love me?


Tired of the sadness

Of waking to stomach acid leaking out of my esophagus

To the over flow of mucus.
The congestion of allergies and constant fatigue. 
Of wanting to escape my life

And convincing myself to embace it
To the constant berating I give myself

And the loving pep talk, that I tell myself so often that is starting to sound more and more like religious brain washing. 
Of being so abundantly gentle and having no space for fear. 

To being fair and always the stability, when I’m a blizzard of internal observation and processing.
Tired of talking about how unhappy and exhaustingly miserable I am.

Of feeling guilty for feeling at all.
Of constantly searching myself for verification and validity
To being at such extremes of contradictive emotions

Tired of PTSD

Tired of being
I’ll always continue because I can’t be weak enough to fail. 
I am tender, fragile, and gentle. Everytime I reach within to embrace myself I get battered, but I won’t ask for permission. I’ll take what is my divine right. If it takes me forever. If it’s the end. I’ll discover my wholeness.