Ink Poisoning

2 notes

If I’m Still Around

Living is breathing
And every breath hurts
And the help that I’m receiving
Only makes it worse
And when you let me inside
Well, that’s the day you saved my life
Since then my world has been beautifully upside-down
So I promise to be with you forever
If I’m still around

There are days when all I can do is scream
But my noise is just too much
But the day you showed my your dream
Is the day I fell in love
But I don’t know how much more I can take
And love, I know you want me to stay
I’ve only got bare feet on burning ground
But I promise to be with you forever
If I’m still around

None of this is anyone’s fault but my own
And I don’t want to die
You have so much potential they say, you’re almost grown
Actually I’m not sure if I want to die
The nighttime is calling
And, baby, I’m falling
But my screams don’t make a sound
I promise to be with you forever
If I’m still around

And I don’t know if this is it
It’s so cliché but remember me as I was
Make these words the one thing you’ll forget
Of me and my memory, love
And words cannot say how sorry I’d be
If I ever did that to me
But I can’t think that word right now
Baby, I promise to love you forever
Even if I’m not around

Filed under love relationships poetry writing depression suicide

0 notes

Goodbye is a Big Red Button Labeled “Do Not Press”

“Mommy, Mommy! Watch!” called the tiny, innocent girl as she ran outside and toddled down the huge white driveway, her curly brown hair bushing out from under the bike helmet that was slightly too large for her small head. She tripped, but popped back up again in a split second, unscathed because of the old knee and elbow pads she wore. The weather was perfect outside that day, a lovely 70o and sunny, with a light spring breeze.

     “I’m watching, honey!” her mother called from the front porch swing where she sat with her iced tea and the latest edition of Oprah magazine spread on her lap. She chuckled as her daughter awkwardly straddled the Barbie bike she had been so excited to open last Christmas morning.

     She pushed off the ground to a wobbly start, twisting and turning the handlebars of her tiny bike to try to find her balance. In a second, she caught the center of gravity and glided down the road.

     Her mother stood up and clapped. “Yay! Honey, that’s great!” she cheered, proud of her little girl’s accomplishments.

     The little girl stopped and hopped off of her bike clumsily, letting it fall to the ground and looking back at her mother for approval. She smiled when she found it.

     The very next day found a similar scene, the little girl riding a little bit farther down the road, her mother applauding her loudly. And the day after that, and the day after that. Soon, she could ride flawlessly around the street, and it was no longer a feat worthy of her mother’s undivided attention. But, still, she rode around daily, if only for her own enjoyment. Sometimes, it would rain while she was outside, but she didn’t care. Water never hurt anyone. She stayed outside through the seasons. Years passed, and she grew up. It poured everyday now, yet still she rode on.

     And then, one day, she walked outside, got on her bike, and slowly pushed off. She turned in a direction she didn’t usually take. She pedaled off her street, out of her neighborhood, and kept going farther and farther away. She didn’t turn around.

     Her mother was distraught when she couldn’t find her baby girl. She frantically searched everywhere, but all she found was a note lying on the desk in her room. It read: “We never think to look for the negative where there are good intentions, but our self destruction is evident when our means betray our causes. And, yet, we continue, calling it benevolence, all the while working against ourselves. The fire that warms us is all-consuming, though dare we to douse it, surely we will die. Such as it is, I fade away.”

Filed under love relationships life depression escape running away growing up

0 notes

Collective Sky

At what point do scars become
At what point do diseases become
At what point do troubles become
When you can't see the way out and it feels like maybe the whole sky is caving 
in so all you can do is sigh and wish for it all to go away
But then when you realize that someone's standing there beside you and his sky 
is caving in too and so you stand there and hold each other and by doing that 
somehow manage to hold up some sort of collective sky
So at what point does love become
At what point do relationships become
At what point do we become

Filed under writing poetry creative writing collective sky love relationships dating struggles

1 note

Ghosts on a Freeway

They were here first

My mom said

When I, as a curious, inquiring six-year-old


They were here first

Loud rushing noises

I was scared

But only at first

Soon, they faded away

Until they were only ghosts

Not even noticed


Well, at least during the day

But sometimes at night

I would lay,

Lay and listen

Until I heard the ghosts again

They screamed their way past me

Never noticing their only observer

No answers, no questions

Their beauty only in my own lack of understanding

For they never acknowledged me

But they were never really gone

A never ending stream

Like a river of light

One thing constant in a spinning world


Flying fast, as always

And now, I step outside

For the first time

Put on my face

And fade-


Until I am a ghost myself

And I step in with those whom I have watched for so long

And wonder if some little girl somewhere

Is listening to us- to me

So, if you are real

Dear little girl,

I’m just a drop of water

In a river 6 billion drops deep

I can only hope

That maybe I am a drop of a different color

That when you hear me

I will not be just another ghost

And maybe something different

Something you will see and remember

As more than just another

And when I am gone, dear little girl

Carry on the way I did

Wear your own colors

And your own world

As you lay and listen to

The ghosts on the freeway

Filed under writing vreative writing poetry ghosts freeway hope feelings emotion

4 notes

Princess of the Daytime

       A million years ago I was born on the other side of the world on the West Coast of Somewhere in a mansion by the sea. I had the whole top floor of my castle to myself. My room was filled with sparkly things and gleaming mahogany wood. And the best part was that it included a giant library with a wall entirely of glass that looked out over the water. When the sun set, it caught the light in just the right way and the whole room would fill with amber sunshine. Every night the sunset would kiss me goodnight.

       And that’s all I remember. I never knew what happened at nighttime while I was in that huge room all alone. I don’t know if I was scared of the dark or the monsters, or if I ever had trouble falling asleep. It was like someone hit fast forward until the morning and all of the sudden it would be light outside again. Maybe I was Princess of the Daytime, and night had no effect on me. Maybe, every night, my mother, the Queen, would sing me to sleep so sweetly that night never happened at all.

       The King would command the forces of darkness to leave his baby girl alone and they, like the obedient subjects they were forced to be, would obey him. And I, as the baby Princess, would never have to live through the night.

       One day when I was old enough to dance, a Prince would come and ask for my hand, and we’d whirl around my ballroom. When the sun would set we’d lean over my balcony together and when the wind blew strands of hair in my face he’d brush them back behind my ear. I’d exclaim how pretty the ocean was and he’d tell my I was prettier. Then, like someone pressed fast forward again, it would be tomorrow and I’d walk downstairs to eat breakfast with my royal family. Then the doorbell would ring. It’d be my Prince and we would dance all day all over again.

       I was happy in my life as Princess of the Daytime and I know I would have never wanted to leave. But I guess at some point some forces of night must have broken down the walls of my home, kidnapped me from my mansion on the sea, and stolen me away from the West Coast of Somewhere.

       They must have brought me here to this world where I live now. Where I can’t sleep at night because I can’t comprehend the darkness and what to do about it. Now, I go to sleep every night and dream of the sea and rooms filled with amber light. But somehow, some way, my Prince must have fought his way after the darkness and followed me here. Because sometimes when I see your face I remember what it was like not to be afraid of the nighttime, of the darkness. When I see your face, I remember that the dark has not defeated me, not yet. When I see your face I know that someday I will find my way home.

Filed under writing fiction creative writing prose princess daytime story shorty story

3 notes

An Overdose of Novocain

I’m not crying

Because I don’t feel

Try to kill the pain

And you wipe out

Every last nerve ending I ever had


I’m not crying

Well, aren’t you proud?

Of the strength I never had

In places

Where it doesn’t exist


I’m not crying

My tear ducts are glued shut

By the pills I live off of

Maybe this isn’t what I wanted

After all


I’m not crying

I feel no pain

I feel nothing

I feel as though

I need to feel again


I’m not crying

You tried to save my life

I’m still breathing

But is my heart beating?

You killed me inside


I’m not crying

Are you happy now?

Filed under writing, poetry creative writing depresssion medication novocain

4 notes

Summer Snow

Let’s pain the sky neon and draw the world right
Too inspired to give up but too tired to fight
So we rewrite the rules of all that we know
We’ll have beach days in winter and dance in summer snow
Let’s leave this place behind us and write our own world
Hold on to each other while the mess around us whirls
We’ll hold back the earthquake, turn red water blue
The world has never seen the likes of a pair like me and you
Think we’ll go down in history
If we live the story how we see
The words aren’t write so we right our own songs
And soon the whole world will be singing along
Tired of breaking, too broken to bend
We can’t let that be the way that our beginning ends
So we sing and we scream and we say the wrong words
But it’s when we say the right ones
We know they’ll be heard
So here is my all, my heart in your hands
I don’t have much to give, hope you understand
I’ve fallen madly in love with you
And your angel’s voice will see me through
So let’s torch the earth’s lies and run away in the skies
Because this is all we need, all we need, you and me
If perfection’s the flower then this is the seed
So let’s pain the sky neon and draw the world right
Cause for once we don’t have a battle to fight
And we’ll make our world the only one we know
We’ll have beach days in winter and dance in summer snow

Filed under poetry creative writing summer snow love love poem romance hope writing

0 notes

They Say She Was Beautiful

They say she was beautiful

And they regret the past tense

In which they speak

They say she was beautiful

And I try to remember

If it’s the truth

They say she was beautiful

That she was beautiful

Until she was no longer anything at all

And now I am here

And I cannot fill her place

For she walked in the sun

And the light burns my skin

And she danced on the wind

But I cannot fly

And she sang to the stars

But I have no voice

For I am just the broken home

In which she used to live

I am nothing but a shell


Because she is gone

They say she was beautiful

But now she is dead

And I am all that is left

Filed under poetry writing creative writing depression beautiful sadness

2 notes

Ink Poisoning

Fuck your stupid idea of appropriate

Fuck you

If you get mad at me when you read this

So make the world your idea of clean

So we don’t know what the hell you mean

Make sure nothing will offend

Because apparently that matters in the end


Let’s give the world a chance to sing

A chance to finally mean what they mean

Until we all die of ink poisoning


Write the words you’re scared to say

But we know you mean them anyway

Black out your words with a tiny bing

Or else we’ll all die of ink poisoning


Because you’d rather live a lie

Than admit the things you want to deny


But I can’t deny everything

I’d rather die of ink poisoning

Filed under poetry creative writing censorship ink poisoning

0 notes

This is the poem that’s the namesake of this blog. I’m not going to sell out and replace my filthy language. That’s the point of the poem.