first (real) day of winter.

The snow will consume the city.

We're stuck on an island

and there's no room for complaints.

Never Enough As Long As I'm Breathing.

It was at this moment that I realized:

My voice was not gone,

it just wasn't as desperate.

I've found the beginning of my rope,

and I will continue to tug at it until I've reached the end.

I (Suffocate) the Doubt.

there is a city

that stands atop the ocean.

I breathe in and out its insanity.

it's become my permanent war wound,

a constant reminder,

that no other place on earth can do to me

what this city has already succeeded in doing.

turning my flesh inside out,

motioning my brain into overdrive.

and to think this is only the small beginning

to the beginning of everything.

A note from your ghost.

A suffocating nightmare. 

Breath heavy deep, black air. 

Cold, moist fear. 

Everything sticks together. 

Everything pulls towards the ground. 

Gravities games. 

And I hate midnight and the next day. 

Snow storm promises. 

Today, without the day. 

breaking apart / open song.

baby elephants, chandeliers. 

spiderweb branches on fire 

hibernating sun. 

charcoal fever. 

dream like awake.

unbearable weakness. 

memory of blank space. 

a mask to hide my face. 

wire limbs. 

ink massage. 

death under all of this winter. 

Basement.

have you ever heard the sound of rushing pain?
the type that fills you with a flashing flame.
into the distance deep.
cradling your head ache fast asleep.
and the ones who feel nothing
mock those who feel everything.
we are our own mirrors.
yet we can't see any clearer.

collapse.

beneath all of the colors i can't see is the truth
lying somewhat helplessly.
wanting nothing.
and the only identifiable feeling is blue.
and everything is rubble
and gray.
nondescript bruises and scars.
car-crash panic.
why is it you're worth it-
whoever you are.
(the winter just keeps going, and going. turning into one long nightmare of white and one long breath of solid, icy air.)

here is your new year.

hold me together with glue- 

I will be your paper mache. 

your collage of sorts. 

the truth is everything falls in, 

when you least expect it to. 

there is no forcing, there is nothing to be forced. 

and in this fog I am an infinite wealth of ideas. 

and in the sun I am whatever I see. 

to believe it all went this fast 

is to dwell in the past. 

And I still have the future to wake up to.