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they think I don’t know I’m not the only one who ever held hands in their betrayalcatching little liesbut never revealing anythingI am not naivebut it felt goodIt feels so fucking goodand trauma will make you believe that feeling anything, even sin, is coping… the blood& the bones
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• Sometimes when I can’t write I go back through pieces I started and never finished or old even journal entries.. Like this one. ….. He is lying there. His stomach pressed flat onto the bed. His breathing steady. He is at peace. I’m not sure how long this will last. Or when my hand…
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I wish to be like the moon. For she is constant. Even in the darkest night, she never fails me. I can search for her in the black blanket of space and somewhere, some part of her is holding on waiting for me to remember her. And every time my eyes find her, I am…
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in tragedywe are no differentin the absenceof all other viable actionno matter our beliefswe fall to our kneeswe begwe pleadwe pray the blood& the bones
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I write because it feels good but also because I have to. It’s like cutting… bloodletting but without the actual violence and subsequent mess. And I never actually care if people like it. I mean, I hope that it helps people. It certainly does make a difference when it resonates with others. That is a…
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There are some things even I can’t write about… things that have ripped my soul from me or continue to gnaw at the few tendons of strength and resolve that hold on. I feel them snapping one by one. And I am looking to God. Begging him for miracles every day. She deserves better than…
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• it has become too loud againand so I runI run to where it feels like hometo know the ever open embraceof Mother Earthshedding the weightat the gatesgoing in alonethe ground presses upagainst my feetcradling mepulling me forwardas the curtain slowly closesthe deeper I godrawing in the sounds of the worldfading outmoving onwhen I cannotwhen…
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I loved youI let you gojust like they saywe are supposed to dowhen someone wantsto be freeso, if you are surethat you will neverreturncould you pleasepleaselet go of me? the blood& the bones
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I will write these demons out of meor I will bleedor drinkor fuck my wayto the end of ittil I am bone dryand numbI would rather feel nothingthan all this everything at once the blood& the bones
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They all think what I write is about them. Whoever the last love was or the one that thinks he’s the one that got away. And he is right but so are they. Everything I have given you here, every story told or beautifully painful thing I’ve written is for any boy that ever had…
