Diary Entry #1

I always said that I’d die by 21.  Looking up at frighteningly unfamiliar leaves as I realize “what a grotesque thing a rose is.”

I turned 22 this year.  But if the last six months are indicative of something, I shouldn’t have turned 22.



You’d think
you’d think that’s all you need.

But that’s not
no true.  Or so it seems.

I don’t know what to do or how to act.
I don’t know how to be.  Me.
It might make me happy
but this anxiety is overtaking.

But I’m stuck.
I can’t move away or go closer or just be me.
When did this get so
When did this go so

The situation that forced confession
that last night, your big fight.
This shit show.  Confusion.

I’d be happy to do nothing with you.



Maybe I’ve fucked up past redemption.
I don’t know right from wrong
and what I think is right for you, I’m not strong enough to carry out.
And I’m out of ideas.  I’m tired of hurting
And I’m tired of hurting you.

Fuck being great, I just want to be good to you.
But everything I do seems like the wrong move.
Too many complications
just want to run away from


Maybe I’m just meant to be

a failure.


From Me \ To You

Look, I know I said I wouldn’t say sorry no more.
But I’m sorry.  Sorry is the only word that I can say.
So I’m sorry but I’m going to have to say sorry a few more times.

I’m sorry for making you cry time and time again.
I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.
I guess not everything ends alright.
I’m sorry for making that promise.

I just want so bad to be someone in life that helps.
But I can’t help but see that I’m someone bad to be with.

So I’m sorry I am the way I am.
Thank you for being so accepting.
But I’ve come apart and I don’t think I can be recollected.
So you shouldn’t stay, with the way I am.
You shouldn’t stay with the way I am.


Bucket List

I remember wanting to “experience life.”
I was scared to death of death.
It felt like this threat was always looming over my head.

Rope, heights, cars, fights, speeding headlights under the moonlight.

I just wanted to “experience life” before…
But this selfish desire for the more memorable
made my mistakes unforgettable and so

I’m sorry, me.
Maybe I should’ve said this sooner.
It seems that my mistakes have made it harder to be you.

Short Stories · Uncategorized

Life After Death (Concept)

You’re the last person in the universe.

How long could you survive?

How long would you want to?

“How many times have I been here before?”  He thought looking out and down his apartment window.  He wouldn’t jump.  The fear of heights.  The nasty splatter.  How would his mom see him?  But the wind rushing and the finality of it.

He turned around, went back to desk, pulled out a syringe, and overdosed.  Half-intentionally.  He could feel his breathing slow.  His eyes fell.  He had a last minute of fear and regret as the world seemed to collapse on him and that was that.

The next the day the sun rose.  No one came into his room the next day.  He’s had enough fights with his mom for her to give in and yell “good morning”s and “good night”s and “I love you”s from beyond the closed door.  She went to work and came back.  Left dinner on the table for him.

At school all his friends thought he must have skipped.  Everyone on their own would shoot him a text.  His teachers checked with each other and had the administration call home.

The call came.  His mom broke down.  His friends shook.  Even the people at school that had just brushed shoulders with him felt it.  There was something off about that school until the population turned over.

In his note he said he couldn’t find a reason to live anymore.  He was frustrated.  He was tired.  It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but he had lost any drive to live his life without a thought as to his mon’s son’s life.  Or his friends’ friend’s life.  His teachers’ student’s life.  His classmates’ peer’s life.



Stealing, taking sleep away

Reminding, keeping me awake

Sleeping, keeping thoughts at bay

Feeling, don’t know what to say

Feeling, nothing left to say

Demons, hiding in my brain

Screaming, driving me insane


But Mom,

Keeps saying, I got angels on the way

Guiding me the way, providing me the way


But I can’t see the way.

Too tired to make it all the way.

I need someone to help me on my way.

The Devil coming, I need God to take me away.



Sometimes, alone at night, I can’t help but hold on to my phone

wishing someone would call or text or reach out

wishing I had someone to call or text or reach out to

someone that understood


Other times I go out between dusk and dawn and wander around

when the town sleeps and I’m alone in the streets.

I can’t help but feel free…


If only for a little bit.

Short Stories


The day came to an end.  It was nice.  The weather had cleared up and he spent the whole day relaxing and playing with friends.  He came home and sat down, grooving to his favourite song.  It was almost midnight and he was tired.  He put his headphones to rest and went to brush his teeth.

And he realized, standing there, facing himself in the mirror that he was alone.  His chest started to tighten and he had to fight to breathe.  The bathroom started to close in.  And in the quiet, silent, lonely moment he hated what he saw in the mirror.  This caricature of a person that everyone else thought was him.

He wasted day after day pretending to connect, not saying what was really on his mind.  He wasn’t fake, but he wasn’t real either.  The fear that stopped him from doing anything worthwhile turned into a worry of ending up mediocre with superficial friends and a shallow life.

He put his toothbrush down and put in his earbuds again.