Mother's Day. Wow, there was a ride! It just gets worse each year, but it's supposed to get easier. This year I didn't get any flowers for my birth mom. I don't see the point of spending fifty dollars on sending flowers to a cemetery. She's dead; she can't appreciate them. If that's the case, then why do I feel so guilty for it ( Read more... )

I hate that you're gone and everyone is counting the days that have passed since your death...like they have some relevance ( Read more... )

Dear Shannon ( Read more... )

My grandfather passed away of cancer on Friday. His funeral is tomorrow. I hate the man. He sexually abused my mother...and was the root of a great deal of her problems. I don't want to go. I don't want to see him. I hope the spit on his grave drowns any semblance of a soul he has left.

What's your breaking point ( Read more... )

Darkness is a liquid. It drips from the ceiling and oozes down the walls, cold to the touch, and colder when it passes the threshold of your wrist and trickles down your arm.

Darkness is a liquid. Opaque. Obscure. There is a reason why the light can't push through.

Octopus heads and jellyfish bodies ( Read more... )

The body is a canvas on which we paint, paint on dusky eyes and blushing lips. We inspire the mannequins in the store fronts to wear sun dresses and balloon-shaped skirts ( Read more... )

When I'm asleep.
That's the only time my life doesn't fall apart
Probably because I'm not awake to fuck things up
To hear the news.
To have to choose.

If you can't remember a better time...you can have mine