spilling my guts in sharp things and caffeine. hurt me please. i can't do it myself. the guilt is like vomit in my veins. [Poetry #179] [2014-15]

creativity, complexity, chance and chaos. poetry collection 2013-14.

Frank and Gerard weren't dating. They were just friends who held hands and said 'I love you' and fell asleep curled around each other in ridiculous blanket-forts in Gerard's basement sometimes. Besides, nobody questioned Frank and Gerard's mutual, sort-of-in-love-ness. And nobody needed to. It was just who they were.

poison wings. poetry collection 2014.

in the plethora of pornography options for the modern saint [Poetry #51] [2015]