My head is filled with ink

Drops and splatters 

Like a murder scene

Shiny like an oil spill

Bitter on my tongue

The pools are getting deeper 

Connecting combining 

Until I am alone on my own

Little island grasping my pen

With the white knuckles of an addict

Stabbing  at shadows with familiar


Dipping the pen in the ink

And decorating my wrist

My thighs

My mouth

Looking at the smooth pool 

Wondering what it would be like

To drown

All the energey to scrawls the walls

With nonsense

Or brilliance

And here I sit

Curled into a small ball

Because I am dangerous

The desire is strong to write

Pages of fire

The desire is strong to hate those that


And don’t  dream of men

With shoes filled with ink

Just a trickle and it will be a waterfall

Alone in with my hood pulled up

Make yourself small

Maybe they won’t notice you at all

Maybe they won’t try to make you speak

Because your choice is a scream or a squeak

This is not normal even in my broken brain

The walls are getting blacker

And the ink is closing in

Dear god some one help me

Reach down a had and pull me out before I forget why I want to leave

Was it for love?

All I can taste is ink

Was it for passion?

The ink slides like silk on my skin

It will replace everything 

Until I am just a heartless creature wandering

These drippimg halls of ink


God’s Acre

My feet crunched on the bones

Of the skeletons

That had overwhelmed the closet

In this void

Until I came upon a mountain 

Of hard steel balls

That each containened a secret

I climbed

An aeon and a day

To reach the precipice

And standing on my toe tips

I began to feel


Not pleasantly like I could 

Float away and swim between the stars

But a black sensation

Of having nothing to hold onto

I briefly think that one

Small step and I would tumblie into


But oh not yet

I scramble down and stand in

This marble town, this crypt,

This God’s acre

Call it what you will I doubt any god comes here

To stroll about in decay and pain

But perhaps they do

Perhaps I am that God

This  badlands of past mistakes

And bridges burnt

Secrets kept

And the flesh reveleaed

I never want to come here but sometimes

Something in me craves to reminded

Of what I left behind

And yet when every time I leave

I take something with me

As if this desolate god forsaken

Place of my own creation calls me back

And presents me shiny baubles

To remind me that one day

I I will destroy this place

Or it will destroy me

If myself destructive tendencies

Never die

Perpaps our demise will be mutual

Good bye until next time

Salted earth of the past 

I will take nothing with me I think

But from the bauble in my hand

My father’s voice speaks

And from the necklace I collected

My mother whispers with

A vipers tongue

Is this healing or chasing death?

I don’t think I can decide that yet

As I tear the jewel fom my neck

And leave it in the wasteland

Pretty Poison

At 15 my abusive mother dragged me kicking and screaming into a psychiatrists office. I sat there arms crossed listening to them talk about me like I wasn’t in the room. listening to them talking about me like I wasn’t even a person but a problem to be solved. I tuned them out because it was easier than letting them see me cry. But then the words bipolar came up and my ears perked up and I could feel my whole body stiffen. the shrink got out her prescription pad to the eager self satisfied nods of my mother and I sat for a moment in slack jawed surprise before I could form words. and when I did they came out in a yell. Fuck you if you think I’m going to be medicated and as I stormed out of the office intent on walking anywhere but there my mother filled to the brim with mock concern tried to convice me that this was best. In the middle of the street I screamed back that what would have been best would be having a mother who hadn’t spent my whole life viewing me with disdain only to later try to treat the problems that resulted with a rainbow of medications that were the same ones that she ate like candy. Her response was cold fury. I don’t remember how I got home that day I only know it wasn’t with her. Years later I tried again to get treatment for this sickness I was told I had until the day I sat in psych class desperately trying to understand myself. And my professor  said that bipolar is most often diagnosed because the meds they put you on work. They had no idea the mechanism that made those pretty drugs effective. So I rebelled against a system that told me I was wrong. I fought. I refused. I learned how to cope by myself because the poison that they expected me to take as I rode a medication merry go round dulled my light. Dulled my personality. And worst of all it dulled my writing. I taught myself that self destruction is a misnomer because I was killing those around me and I fought. I fought to control myself. I fought to become my own advocate and even though I am still terrified of doctors I stood up and said no to what wasn’t right for me. I taught myself that mentally ill was just another word for not fitting in and I learned to take glory in that.I learned to talk to my sickness and I found friends who accepted it and spoke with it too until we could lull it back to sleep. And most of all I taught myself that the drugs they used to make me fit into a box neatly tied with a glittery bow were pretty poison.


I am grabbing handfuls of my hair

In anxiety 

Sleep is an illusive beast

Because all I can feel is this



Undertone of anger and hate

Maybe I’m just cynical

Because my eyes have opened

To see that all of this is cyclical

Oh the glorious echo chamber

Where everyone of us is right
And it’s so fragile

That if  someone shatters the illusion

It’s  a death match 

I wish this was hyperbole

But how can it be?

When family stops being family

If they disagree
When cognitive dissonance

Ends in shootings

And the puppet masters pull

The strings

We dance for them until we are bloody

We dance until we hate ourselves

We dance until the loathing


And all we can do is scream
Other humans are only fodder

And they tell us this is the 

American Dream

Even though it took it’s last breath

At the hands of greed

And they expect us to ignore the

We take sides and if anyone doesn’t agree

We beat them down

Until they start to see
A society that is guilty

A culture where independence

Means me me me
But stop


I have spoken enough of sickness

This storm has a lining silver

These chained hearts and 

Locked minds have a key


Because with voices strong

We whisper our story

With hearts that beat

We have empathy

It’s time to change the narrative

It’s time to truly live


Even if you disagree

Do not place your heart

On the alter of wrong and right

It’s  a futile sacrifice
Hand your enemy the key
Understanding will never be found

In defense or a blood sport culture of fear

It will be found in the story

It will be found in the humanity