Everything remembered must be forgotten. The gods are glorious, and then they are not -- history is an ongoing clock. It trudges on.

“i give a fuck. i give a lot of fucks, actually. i'm a prostitute of feelings.”

sometimes, you feel void. #20 poetry july 14, 2016.

❝Do me a favor, Wynona Benoit: tell me that unselfish deeds exist. Be careful though, because I'll start to believe in the world again if you do.❞

Split my head open and you shall see stars.

We look up at the same sky and we see the same thing and suddenly, it's not so lonely anymore.

Hipbones. Thigh gaps. The things girls today are obsessed with. And will do anything to have. *Trigger Warnings: bulimia, anorexia. Please read with caution*

junkyard dreaming: where the broken thoughts go to die and leave something vaguely like stories in their wake. OR - a collection of one shots and various items of the like.

[a ranted poem against sexism in modern culture]

if nothing else works, call your mom. poetry #9