I can’t believe I woke up from that.

Losing your children doesn’t just change you—it rewrites you. Like a fire that doesn’t just burn the house down, it erases the blueprints. You’re not who you were, and you’ll never be that person again. And people who say “you’ll heal” don’t realize: you’re not wounded. You’re

This is the homeless shelter

Some people treat “call your family” like it’s a universal fix—as if everyone was handed a loving support system with their birth certificate. It’s tone-deaf. Some of us are the emergency contact, the last name on the list, the only number we trust—because blood doesn’t always

When I was court-ordered into therapy, they asked for an emergency contact. I said, “It’s me. I’m all I got.” And they had the nerve to say, “You don’t have a relative?” Like—no, bitch, I don’t. I don’t have anybody. Man, I get so fed up with that shit I want to punch people in

I wish I could be frozen and brought back to life in 1,000 years from now.

I honestly don’t want to live past 50. I was supposed to be dead by 35, and here I am at 40 dreading the next ten years. People romanticize healing like it’s a sunrise, but sometimes it’s just a longer stretch of dusk—just more shadow, more silence, more pretending like you’re

I have a joke about nihilism, but it doesn’t matter.

A couple months ago, I had bronchitis and walking pneumonia. I didn’t go to the doctor—I just let it ride. I could barely breathe. I fainted a few times. Thought I was dying. And as horrible as it was… part of me was happy. Like maybe this was finally it. Quiet, slow, no mess.

Jamming

I miss Joey

Best album.

“Inspired by another debate I'm listening to: I've never met a single Christian in my entire life who tries to do what Jesus said to do, and neither have you, I'll wager. 1: Jesus said to abandon your family to go spread the news of the coming kingdom on Earth (not Heaven).

Sex is cool, but have you ever come so close to the edge of your own mind that even pleasure started screaming? Ever kissed the void goodnight, whispered sweet nothings to your trauma until it moaned back in broken lullabies? Have you ever fucked death in the eye and begged it

I don’t want to “glow up,” I want to contract consumption and write unreadable poetry in a crumbling estate.

I want a lobotomy and a forehead kiss— wipe the slate clean, cradle the chaos, and kiss me like you’re proud of the ruin I’ve become. Make me soft, stupid, and serene. I don’t need closure, just less cognition and a gentle hand to hold while the lights dim upstairs.

You’ll find me fucking on the altar of madness, dripping with lust and unholy gladness. Moaning in tongues as the candles all flicker, each thrust a hymn, each gasp growing sicker. I gave up my soul for a night of decay, where sanity begs but I won’t let it stay. Love me like

Christians are so damn delusional. I post a song and this is what the hypocrite says:

Don’t worry that your children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you.