I Couldn't Help But Think

Poetry, prose, memoir, and rambling words I conjure from the abyss of my soul late at night, dead tired and desperate. Bitter and sweet fragments of a bleeding, broken mind; these are my emotions and the thoughts they leave behind. This is nothing but ache.

(Please note that this contains some heavy and possibly upsetting material.)

i took this - and my other works - down for a while. i got tired of feeling like i was putting myself out into the world only for my words to be thoughtlessly consumed by an unforgiving void. i was tired of shouting myself hoarse without even an echo in reply. i don't want to shove myself down anyone's throat; i want someone to pick me up by the flute of my delicate glass and savor the taste of my words on their tongue. is it so much to ask that i be known without pushing an agenda?

i've decided to re-publish some of the poems in this collection, but if there's no new interaction with this work, i won't add anything else. i've improved my writing since i've written these, but i find no joy in sharing to an unwilling or begrudging audience.

thank you to those who have shown their appreciation in the past. it has meant more to me than i can properly convey.