Writer’s Block

There comes a point

Where you look at yourself and think:

This is it.


This is where it ends.


Every word you put out is toxic, it comes back at you

As something else


None of its right.


Because you can’t write

And your god given gift of being a god

In every world you write

Is stricken


With your inability to

Put the pen to paper – stop being such a slacker!


Have a drink, take a hit

Might as well, everything you’ve been scratching down


Has gone to shit.


It’s different when a writer can’t write,

Sure, maybe the sun is still bright –

But for a dreadful moment, you’re normal.


Food for Thought

They tease you about how quickly you go through razor blades,

But fail to notice that you haven’t shaved.


Two, Four, Six, Eight – hours you’re supposed to wait

Four, Eight, Twelve – but there’s no more meds on the shelves

Three, Six, Nine – the number of pills you took this time


You’re an emotional crier,

But you haven’t felt a thing in months.


The life of the party, the loudest in the room,

You’re so fun!

Because no one can hear you screaming when you’re laughing.


The walls are closing in, there is no escape;

Only when you’ve been crushed do you realize the panic chord

Was in your hand the whole time.

Because can’t and won’t are two very different beasts.


You’re admirable for your strength, for your will – a survivalist –

Even while eating yourself alive.



I’m sorry.


I don’t say.

Because I’m not – because you drove me to this;

With endless bliss, with blinding happiness.


Yesterday I could hardly bare to look at you

Who pulled me apart,

To thread us together at the seam;

Yet what had been was only a dream.


Today your love is a blessing I resist.

You grasp at pointed fragments of a person

who does not exist; while I hide the scars from the edges

you’ve gouged me with.


And tomorrow?


I’ll wish I tried harder

than I did.


Character Customization 




You build yourself this character:

One that wants to get better,

One that wants to inhale and feel

The life bursting through their pores.




You are the architect of your own destruction,

And yet when your life is falling in on itself- 

Buildings brushed away by your own barbaric breaths 

Clouds unlike cotton, that roll like eyeballs and gape down at you before dispersing 

Because even clouds can’t stand what they see 

-You’re just as surprised as everyone else. 




Monotonous, meticulous routines carefully rendered, pushed together and bound in place so, for the love of God, you can set your own pace. 




But this character isn’t a character at all, and the fact is YOU want to feel better. You want to BE better. 

But at this point, you’re no longer inside yourself. 

Waking up and falling asleep are all the same thing; the stretch of time from when your eyes open to when they close is merely a film you watch on a screen.

And you’re the one – the only – voice in the audience who can’t seem to convey a single message to the character that YOU created. 




What’s the point? 



You want to die.
But you’re so tired of wanting to die 
So tired, death becomes a joke 

And the ones you care about –

The SUPPORT GROUP doesn’t 

Want to hear it anymore 
Because you’re so tired of wanting to die,

And they’re so tired of you wanting to die 
Then you’re just the funny, sad joke of the bunch 
Your memes are so depressing

Your statuses are so empty

Your pictures have no views 
And it’s because you’re so tired 
And no one realizes you’re reaching out 

But there’s so much help

But there’s so much love

But there’s so many people 

And all of it is too far away 
Because you don’t want to die, 
Because you’re so tired
You’ll withstand the laugh 


Inner Me 

I want to leave you in razor blade handcuffs, leave you with the dare to get free
I want to fill your lungs with black and hold my hand over your face  
I want to carve your tongue from your face to flog your shoulders,

So you feel the lash of your words 
I want to cut you deep enough that from your veins 
I spill out

So when I look in the mirror my reflection is not you 
But me 


Gamer Girl 

You think you could put a gun to someone’s head
And that would be it
But this isn’t Halo                                      This isn’t COD

You get no points.                                          No one wins 

There is no game                                       Quite like this 

You think one squeeze                                   Of your finger 

But there are no pixels 

On your screen
The blood on your face                                 The skin on your lips                              Those teeth on your cheek

They’re real

They’re broken
And a skull full of dreams
And eyes full of mirrors

Come back at you

In ways                                                             That do not allow you to think 

There is no ‘respawn’
There is no check point 

Just your hands 

Pressing ‘pause’ 
When you bring it to your head 
“Do you want to continue”
Will you pull the trigger again?