Entries 5
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The Same As Being In Love
I hate the smell of blood after it lingers in the air for some time. The metallic smell throws me off, and there’s only so much I can do to the room. I shower and scrub myself. I spritz the room ...
Black Balloon
I’m three years clean yesterday from cutting. I still think about it every day, especially this past month or two. Not so much the anniversary itself, but wanting to use, I’m in this shitty offic...
Ship in the Sand
I've been anxious about school ending for weeks now. Not any good kind of anxious. I met someone about a month ago. I wasn't planning on anything happening. I wasn't looking for anything. But it ...
Exile on Main St.
I feel less lonely walking the streets of a dispassionate and soulless city than I do hiding in my room for days on end. Though the emptiness never leaves, I suppose I'm affected more by the idea...
Caring
"You gotta do what makes you happy." It was a drinking night. Heavier than the usual. I had finished off the half-bottle of wine and had moved onto the fireball whiskey. My friend looked at m...
Book Description
The man in the ironic mask.
How ironic . . .
I'm a writer.
I like typewriters, record players, tea, and jam.
I have a thing for sex, wine, and pornography.
This filth you're about to read is rubbish.
I've written better.
It's ranting, complaining, and depressing
muck that's draped in mink fur
and drenched in musky old zinfandel.
I tend to like it. I'm attached to it.
It's mine. Hands off. Get your own.
If you are not a fan of
rants, whines, and complaints;
then don't let your arse . . .
When you happen to return,
be a dear and bring me a cup of tea.
