who are the gods? are they us?

spontaneous poetry written while overcoming some of life's many obstacles. ❝i cried tears you'll never see, so fuck you. you can go cry me an ocean and leave me be.❞ ▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁ COLLECTION NO.1 #125 in poetry © wraiths™ 2015

cold paint

I'M WRITING THIS BECAUSE I AM ANGRY AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THIS FIRE; I AM A COLLECTION OF BLACKENED COALS BUT BENEATH A LAYER OF ROCKS THERE IS A FIRE RAGING ON MORE PASSIONATE THAN EVER. BUT I AM ALONE, ALL CAMPERS HAVE FOOLISHLY EVACUATED. OR MAYBE IT IS MY FAULT FOR NOT SMOKING ENOUGH, OR NOT SPARKING THEIR INTEREST, I DON'T KNOW. I AM FUCKING ANGRY. COPYRIGHTED, 2015. JAKE SULLIVAN.

Fantasy worlds... (2013) A writing exercise in visual sensations.

A collection of tragedies of sorts, of demons or angels (whatever you'd fancy to call them) that lurk and/or gleam in my mind. Written when the moon's dreary and the sun's near awakening. Obnoxiously metaphoric, subtly inspirational. © Jake Sullivan, 2014

shoved a needle in my brain and now my head won't stop bleeding

drown in ichor.