when the tattoo artist shaved my arm for my latest inking i wasn’t quite prepared for the truth it exposed some things are buried deep down so deep they become dream so deep they are forgotten mementos of another life but in the glaring light of the day i saw them staring up at me […]
even in the quiet moment of reflection the memorydagger stabs through the curtain of fond remembrance to shred the veil into paper dolls of pain past insidious mental scars like matryoshka dolls nesting in each puckered line harken thee unrepentant spirit flee the hallowed halls of dusty relic take root within another dried nightmare
i have dated two blondes in my long and self destructive career as a failed lover it seems odd maybe because the two of them caused more destruction than the countless mousy brunettes i tell myself are my type the first i have written about so many times i smell her perfume when i read […]
my mind is a museum, i take guided tours through the musty halls in the quiet moments those brief seconds of peace between bouts of overwhelming sorrow and confusing seconds of energetic need those are the times i am me, like when we talked, the voices grow quiet and all there is is all there […]
three years ago today i earned a new set of scars third day on a new job unfamiliar with the dangers five hundred degree plastic with too much back pressure exploded out of the nozzle unfortunately i was in the path blinked just in time to save my right eye this morning after a shower […]
