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01 December 2020 @ 02:10 am

I'll add whoever.
Just comment here before you add me?

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14 December 2011 @ 02:03 am
There’s something in the water
thats making everyone crazy.
The water.

Here you are again,
lost in your mind.
Scribbling so fast,
the words on the page
aren't even legible.
They blend together into one mass.
You're just staining your fingers
with ink and blood,
not even realizing the ink is turning red
the paper changing colors
mixing with the red.
you're writing through your own flesh.
nail to skin,
knuckle to bone.

They can tell you've gone crazy again.
Hair tangled in a mess,
makeup smeared on your face
from sleeping on it three days in a row.
Chipped nail polish on one hand--
only one hand.
because you always get halfway through a thought
then switch to another one.
and then you end up with
acetone in your bloodstream
and that can't be good for you.
You claw to get it out,
paint and meat under your talons.
Blood smeared
from nail to skin,
knuckle to bone.

Your life is becoming a monotonous haze.
You don't take pride in your work anymore,
you don't have time to work anymore.
Just eat, breathe, and sleep.
You even have to remind yourself to breathe.
It's stupid.
And when you drive that stupid purple jeep
you think of how easy it would be
to autocorrect too much
and flip across the freeway
into oncoming traffic
but you dont
because you dont want to hurt others
in the path of your self destruction
which is kind of you.
But more than anything,
you want a change of pace,
you want that metal to
tear you apart
bones breaking--
nail to skin,
knuckle to bone.

This is the rest of your life—
how does it feel?
You’re a candle in a hurricane,
a bird flying north for the winter.
Circling your what-if’s and maybes,
crossing your I’s
and dotting your T’s.
but not living.
Holding your head so tightly
pressing nails to skin,
knuckle to bone.

There is something in the water
thats making everyone hostile.
The water.
27 March 2011 @ 01:51 pm
I've been playing with this thought since long before Alice is on Drugs came out...
Now I've decided to actually make this a reality...

Alice is on Drugs is to have a sequel.
and it's really going to be more of an addon.
and I'm not going to self-publish it.
[at least I hope i'm not.] 

I've really only begun thinking of what it's going to be 
and I've been playing with a bunch of different ideas,
like maybe a collaborative art/poetry book.
or maybe it's just all my writings PLUS some more,
or maybe it's going to be a coffeetable book.
I really don't know at this point...
but It's been on my mind for a while...
ever since I wrote more to the opening piece of AIOD.
If you haven't read it go here and click on 'preview' and go to page 7,
if you want to read the addon go here.

This won't happen overnight.
This probably won't even happen for about another year.
But I know I want to do it.
I need to make it better.
02 November 2010 @ 02:34 am
A wish,
a hope,
a prayer,
a single sentence uttered by desperate lips.

A thought,
a sound,
a breath,
a moment missed by a blink of an eye.

With eyes closed so tightly,
anything can happen.
A wink,
a step,
a whisper,
a person lost in the throng of humanity.

A movement,
a dance,
a progression,
a silver lining in the darkest of clouds.

With eyes closed so tightly,
anything can happen.

A withdrawl,
a fall,
a lie,
a love forgotten by too much time together.

A life,
a sigh,
a touch,
a beat of the heart.

With eyes closed so tightly,
can go wrong.

20 October 2010 @ 02:52 am
Started this a year ago...
Thought about it the other night and then it wouldn't get out of my head.
Therefore, here it is.

It's not a masterpiece, 
but it's something to be sorta proud of.


Can you breathe in the flame?
Can you pull the life of fire
deep inside of you?
Let it burn inside of you.
Let it breathe into your soul.

Inhale, exhale.
Maybe you'll float away
sinking into the air
flying high above all others.
Watching them drift farther and farther out
and away.
and away.
and away they go.

You come to these dark alleys for one reason.
One beautiful reason with a dark name
and a darker soul.

You can always smell him before you see him,
the scent of smoke fills the air as he draws near.
It's a delectable scent you now only associate with him.
And you love it
but you're still so afraid.

So you blend in with the surroundings,
hoping he won't see you,
but knowing he will.
Watching him watch you,
you feel like the only one in the room.
And you love it
but you're still so afraid.

But you conform with the crowd,
with their cancer between their fingers.
You hate the taste of it on your tongue,
but you love it
and you're just trying to stay barely visible to him.

Do you think he sees you as you hide yourself behind the smoke?
Do you even see yourself when you suck in the ash?
Killing yourself,
killing him.

With every inhale,
there's a poison spreading inside of us all.

And when you leave
with him by your side,
you're still floating as high
as the black mist inside of you will let you.

Taste the smoke and ash
still lingering on his mouth
Breathe it in,
Breathe him in.

But that poison inside
is more destructive than you think.

You'll hold him when he coughs into a fit,
hacking up blood and bile with every choked gasp,
expectorating years of ash into his hands.
Hear his white lies that come from blackened lungs.
"I'm fine. I'll be okay. It's nothing."
After all, they're such believable lies,
you place your trust in them.

He's too far gone to save,
it's choking the life out of him
with every
single little
breath he

I know that one day
he'll disappear with the smoke
and we'll scatter the ash he leaves behind.

12 January 2010 @ 08:40 pm
I wrote a book.

Support starving artists!

Buy one or seven!
12 January 2008 @ 01:35 am
Crisp -
    Adjective -
  1. Clean-cut, neat, and well-pressed; well-groomed.
  2. bracing; invigorating
Sanitarium -
    Noun -

  1. An institution for the preservation or recovery of health, esp. for convalescence; health resort.

Crisp [Sanitarium]


Walking in through the iron gates that read “hospital”
you know that there’s something more to this story.
Just through the campus you realize,
this is where they toss the unwanted;
the sign is a lie.

Stepping through the hallways you see
the nurses who don’t care
and the doctors that are too drunk to diagnose.
The patients are left unattended in their rooms,
some screaming,
some eerily silent and staring,
and some that even lay in their own filth—probably dead.

All you want is to get your review done
so you can get the hell out of here
and crawl in your nice and safe bed.
Away from the sterile environments
and the creepy men in white-coats.
You intend to forget about them soon as you’re across the threshold...
But you didn’t expect the only one sane to be the one you talk to.
You didn’t expect the story be told in its entirety.
It’s always the truth that they keep
out of the story books and newspapers.

“We’re living in a nightmare
and always expecting to wakeup somewhere else.
Why do you think some of us look around with disinterest
or why the girls pinch themselves while crying:

It’s like they tied razor wire to our teeth as soon as we enter
so no one can talk.
Nobody speaks anymore,
it all sounds like the stereotypical psychobabble.
All we can do is scream,
and shriek,
and cry,
and yell at the top of our lungs and pray our tongues don’t touch the wire that rips us to pieces.
We didn’t come here looking ragged and acting insane.
I swear it.

There are no crowds within these walls.
It's just a place filled with emotionless people and silent sounds,
violent sounds,
and insolent sounds that all seem filled with
torturous and murderous intent…
But that’s only because nobody knows how to calm down the schizos.

The poor suicidal princesses sit in their rooms all day
pressing their faces into saran wrapped mattresses,
fogging it up and rendering them breathless.
But breathing through the plastic is not such a simple task,
their lungs soon ache for oxygen, forcing them to pull away.
They scream and cry for the medication and attention no one gives them.
“Is there no escape?”

The ones who sit in the corners need more help than any of us.
They worry about who’s going to come after them next,
what poisons are floating in the air,
where they’re going to die, or when and how…
Poor little paranoids…

Some are simply as frail as a feather—
I mean, one good gust could knock them over.
I guess that’s why they stay inside their cells all day
and why they’re suddenly as white as ghosts.
Because there’s nothing but bone in their bodies
and ugly demons in their heads.

There are others who’ve cracked beyond repair.
Mumbling about plagues under their breath
and everlasting fires burning.
Nobody pays mind to their blubbering,
but I secretly think they’re predicting the future.
They say the insane can do that.

My personal favorites are those who shake and shiver
violently and constantly with no draft or chill.
Always whining and crying and aching,
yet there’s no marks on them
only the scars on their noses
or the holes in their arms.
And then a junkie without his fix
is the same as a girl off her meds.

Sadly, the best part about this haven
isn’t watching the patients for amusement.
It’s really what only the walls are meant to see,
and since they betray their keepers, we know it all;
even if the subject is never around to tell about it.

Things such as:
Clinical Abortions,
Lethal injections,
Cold steel on tender fleshes.
That bloom reds on peaches.
With knives.

White-coats pushing patients to limits.
Against the walls.
Pushed into,
pulling through.
And there’s nothing we can do to fight them
Yelling is ignored,
confused with the babble.
Tears are nothing,
Saline is just another chemical here

But everything surrounds us,
like sewage from the sick minds.
Contaminating our own.
Embracing our sanity.
Fucking destroying what little hope we had.
Making peaches into grays.
With glass.
Hidden behind closed doors and
blocked from eyes by white walls.

It's a fucking asylum of masturbatory fashions.
The best of the best,
the sickest of the vile,
the worst imaginable minds that we never cared for.
First we’ll think our savior has come
then we'll cast you away screaming in your face--

Away you fucking rot!”
This is where the wardens always pull them away.
This is the moment the guest always needs to leave.
This is why we keep them locked up, they’ll tell you.

Horrified and revolted you exit the “hospital”
through the foreboding iron gates.
This is where they belong.
This is the moment you vow it’s right.
This is why they’re away from the world.

And unbeknown to you,
but always seen by the walls
and heard by the patients,
another sin is committed inside these halls
While the nurses just laugh
and the white coats get their thrills in.
Your little host is sedated and pushed into the walls
and the steel blades come from the doctors hands.

I’ll go back to pretending I’m crazy
I won’t tell another soul the real story.
Just please
make the crazy white-coats disappear.
Dear walls, try to listen well
be sure this tale gets back to the others.

Music: Seether - Fuck it
28 November 2007 @ 09:27 pm
Brand new.
Clean slate.

Because it feels good.
Mood: anxiousanxious
Music: Ayria - Revenge on the world