Writers Must Write All

/

...them. Thus the question rises, whether they’re avoided because of the fear of labels. And it makes no sense. They’ll be avoided because for some reason the delusion dictates that a writer is just a writer and a philosopher is just a philosopher? There’s no trace of where this twisted concept of what a “writer” allegedly is came from. A writer writes.

And I love to theorize on physics.

And I love to create through chemistry.

It’s unknown why the struggle is to shine light on these things. A writer that doesn’t write is no writer. Only fiction gets written. Words which exist only within text and thought. Imaginary constructs with sub-dimensional intelligence navigating those realities. But these things hold no meaning, no purpose. They are intentional creations which assures...

Read More

Schizophrenic Grief

/

...soul, millions of pieces. Meanwhile, the reflection stands, chin high. It observes the nothing where the broken heart once stood.

“You can’t wait to eat who?” It says.

The fragmented person can’t respond.

“You might win out there, but I always win in here.” It sings.

Shreds of body form together and rebuild the original frame, minus its sense of reason. A car without a driver.

The reflection brushes itself off, the body does too...

Read More

Standing on a Writing Block

/

...choke and struggle,
Yet, nothing comes out,
And I’m the one stopping myself,
But I don’t know how,
There’s no failure
Don’t quit, don’t fail
Time outruns everything while the blank page rests,
Infuriating interruptions seem countless,
Still, I feel it tingling my skin,
The lights die out,
My hands begin to spill the ink,
It feels like I’m getting somewhere,
I’m delusional here,
And I write,
Scratch it out,
Try the laptop,
Wipe it out,
It’s almost morning and I’m still sitting right here,
And I panic,
And I panic,
But I’m still right here,
Thinking is harder,
And I’m stressing much further,
The doubts questions...

Read More

Time Jogs

/

...crumbling infrastructure.
From buildings to dust, living to fertilizer.
The true power of the moving arrow is infinite beyond understanding.
The tower of then and now stands tall overseeing every second.
Time sits on its thrown, bleeding its immense influence waterfalls over all.
Its influence which reaches into the depths of perception itself.
Cruel time with its dark sense of humor.
It’ll patiently discipline another through years of dedication.
And after long enough...

Read More

She Speaks My Language

/

...we always do this twisted little dance.
And we fight.
And we get over it.
And we fight.
And we get over it.
There’s no reason when either of us can’t quit on the other.
But we don’t.
Regardless of whether or not I ignore her for entire days at a time.
Whether I tell her my deepest truths or not.
Whether who I show up as is truly me or the lie I’ve made up.
She’s always there.
Always teaching me more.
Always making me better.
Always making me whole.
So I’m always here.
And I’m a bastard.
But I’m still here.
Who she saw as a child is not who she sees now.
Those are two different people.
My innocence...

Read More