This Summer.

Summer seethes on my skin Creeps inside the soaked dark blue-almost-black t-shirt I wear Runs down my back and my knees and my brow Shuffles around me and rests on the person beside me Suffocating, From the mingled putrid smells and sticky arms and the broken air conditioner Burning through the seat cover of my … More This Summer.

My misery is my own.

See, that’s where my problem lies. I keep thinking that the reason you can’t help me is because you don’t understand me. But deep down I know you can and, I’m only using this excuse of your ‘incomprehension’ to fool myself into believing that my problems aren’t so twisted.  You can see where it comes … More My misery is my own.

Letters to you: I

Why I never write about you. I’ve exhausted myself enough, let me begin. No, beautiful boy , it’s not because I don’t love you enough, it’s because I love you too much. And I cannot much afford these words for I am left drained by the time I finish if there ever can be an … More Letters to you: I

A beginning.

      I understand this is unforgiving, using a terribly clich├ęd title and first blog post, but…. To, this page. Before I begin, it would be nice to acknowledge the amount of dedication and inspiration I mustered up to finally start my own blog. It has existed in my mind for far too long, … More A beginning.