The raw intensity of vulnerability. The mask, the haze that clouds our persona. 

Shy, quiet, insecure, invisible: nonexistent; alive. 

When your partner’s eyes flutter open to gaze down upon the shape of ecstasy below and that golden reflection gleams back into yours, you’ll know it is better to lust than to love. 


You said you like the scent my skin 
left on your sheets. I hope you smile when you close your eyes
 and inhale the memories I left for you.

He washed his sheets.

Splintered Memories

Afraid to feel although I want.

I hold them back for fear of taunt. 

Shattered shards sharp through my pulse. 

Haunting shadows emanate from my sullen soul; nostalgia, darkness, secrets left untold. 

Yet, now before me: a glimmer, a sheen.

Something so familiar, yet altogether clean. 

I want to believe you, when you caress my cheek,

but you, charming boy, you’ve gashed my persona;

I am weak. 

Now, this is me.

I have spent the last hour trying to make sense of this irrational catharsis my mind was racing through when I realized: I am at the most incredible turning point in my life and I have become an entirely different person in such a short period of time. I do not fear the change. In fact, I am wholeheartedly embracing it. I was stuck, oh so very stuck on this dragging, ongoing-carousel taking me nowhere. Self-discovery, self-realization, growth: now, this is me.


    Somehow, my frozen hands, still pained and filled with tubes, managed to lower the rough white sheet just enough to allow my eyes to peak through strands of loose hair. Terror struck what my mind could not process. The thudding in my ears grew to a pace my feet could not produce. A tensing chill surged my body, yet still my mind could not strike a command.

    Through the darkness and the hall’s flickering blind-slipped streaks of light, I gazed upon what appeared to be a flashback; the same darkened figure that began the whirlwind of it all stood whistling at the end of the narrow hall.


Do I still want this,

or are you just a habit?

I’ve grown so accustomed

to every sound your soul makes.

I know nothing other

than the form of your shape.

You are my safety;

my blanket, my unending warmth.

Though, the days seem

to have grown hot.

The woolen lay upon me

is further needed not.