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Let’s get this out of the way - everything I write looks like the same grey shit to me these days. I don’t know what I’m looking for, what I need, but I’m not finding it. Isn’t that a problem wit...

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I know, I know. There’s nothing left to say. It just is what it is, and we have to deal with it. You could have warned me, you could have told me. But that’s not how the story goes. The story is...

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It’s easy to get lost, you know. To forget the way back home, to have been somewhere and lose it. We talk about growing up, and the way time changes things. No one’s really surprised when they l...

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I thought… but I didn’t, really. I’ve been here before, over and over. I repeat myself. I reread old entries, and it’s painful, the way memories skip and return, the way I struggle to keep the t...

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… and here my heart lies fallow. This couch is like the promise of asylum, which is perfectly awful because here I am busy running away and, really, what’s the point if there’s just going to be ...

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It all gets so twisted up and confused. Knots twisting knots, tightening the noose, winding through crooked paths until no one remembers. No one remembers why it started, knows what the argument...

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I know, I know. It’s late. There’s nothing to say. The stars are twinkling and the wind is blowing and everything can wait until the morning. Except some things don’t get said during the day, wh...

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Life is ripples, waves. Motion and counter-motion, action and reaction. Sometimes things happen just right; the pattern completes itself, sustains itself, becomes itself. More often events jangle...

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I try to say I don’t know, but the lie catches in my throat. The lie, always the lie. That I don’t know exactly what I want, that I’m not this person, that something was a mistake. … It’s the ...

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Shh, I know. It’s not going to be okay. Nobody’s coming to save us. Any of us. There’s no revelations to be handed down from on high. No explanations written in on the label. One life - sold as ...

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The chill creeps up like a jealous lover, the rain keeps falling like a dirge. And all around is darkness, clouds traced with the deep dark grey that’s more ominous than black. I get so few rain...

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Who’d have thought, the ashes in my mouth taste sweet. That the gunpowder would smell like heaven falling down around. Behind the suffocating noise there’s a quiet street. I’m a thing of the in-...

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So many pieces. Thoughts becoming words becoming sentences and paragraphs and ideas. Translation errors and gaps in logic, lies easily overlooked in the rush to assemble something like a complete...

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That feeling, wretched, black. The deep pit in your stomach sucking you down, the abyss calling, demanding surrender. Not mine. Sympathetic, a reflex, a memory to connect myself to someone else’...

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It smells wrong, all the eucalyptus and sycamore, the desert aromatics hidden out of sight by all the planted shit. The trees are sparser than I like, the sun too bright even underneath them. An...

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Too much. I need to say it, because I can’t stop feeling it, I don’t know how to stop. But there’s too much and what if I can’t? What if you don’t feel it, what if it’s just words, what if I sli...

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The scene from a movie. The couple fights. After dancing around each other they’re finally honest, uninhibited. The words a kind of violence, honest but bloody. He leaves, slams the door. I’m pr...

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Every night the last week - I’m not going to write tonight, I’m going to take a break. I’m going to focus on other things, I’m going to do something other than scrutinize the interior of my skull...

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How do you tell the difference between a lie you want to believe and a truth you don’t want to accept? When the line between what’s real and true and what’s a fantasy to be discarded is razor th...

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Writing too much. Thinking too much, about things which are just for me. The rest of my life feels squeezed and compressed, displaced by the tumor of intrusive thoughts. But that’s the problem w...

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The forest isn’t exactly quiet. It’s not deep enough to wash out the sounds of the nearby roads, the trail we’re on not far from the parking lot. We’ve been sitting there for hours, talking. The ...

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Because sometimes I wish I could sing and play guitar instead of write.

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It’s midnight, dark, he turns the corner into the lamplight. It’s probably the first time I’ve really seen him, and not the mask. “You’re lucky I’m afraid of pain or you wouldn’t see this pretty ...

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Long time ago. Vivid image. Working at a gas station, shitty part-time high school job. Get there, park somewhere away from the drug dealer who show up later. Clean out the garage, empty the oil ...

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Electricity is liquid, blinding blue twirling in red like cherries. The sharp tang of iron twines with ozone. I’m talking nonsense right now, but the drums are hitting me just right and the guit...

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