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Can’t stop won’t stop can’t stop won’t stop can’t stop won’t st-

just keep moving don’t think about the things you’ve left being the people you’ve left behind, you don’t need them and you never did. push forward onwards to better places don’t think about the things you’ll never be able to do the friends you’ll never make because you couldn’t stay still long enough to let anyone know you.

pack it all up- complain about all the things that weigh you down but forget why you wanted them in the first place forget why you have to leave- the going is hard enough, leave no room for doubt in your soul. It is as it is as it has always been.

hunt out the things you merely want to have- give them away   think of someone who can make you smile, a deserving heart for the things you wished to keep find someone whose day will be brightened by it and let it go.    possessions are a weakness of the soul

Collect the things you can take- addresses, phone numbers, knowledge, catch yourself sneaking trinkets of sentiment, beware the voice that says “it won’t take much space” your shoulders are heavy enough your pack too full-

Some days you will wake up ready to cut out a swath of your life and the possessions that go with it, like cutting a balloon loose from it’s weight- regret is not always so heavy after all, but beware the choice- what is willingly cast away never returns the same, and you will work twice as hard to be less than you were. still, it is something.

Above all, always keep moving  keep a weather eye out for new horizons keep an eye on the road  Doubt grows in the tired soul and scorpio knows better than to stop.



I found my first blades today

that I used to seperate my skin with purpose.
the first, a razor blade- given by a friend

as part of a repair kit

that I used for many years

before trying to fix myself at 45˚

with a quick motion

faster then hesitation

biting my lip

I thought “that wasn’t so bad”

and kept it with a lighter, bound with a rubber band.
The second, a little knife- 

glimpsed at a stationary store

I saw it in a new light

and I bought it with a purpose in the back of my mind.

just in case I needed it someday

always a good thing to have

because someday came around quick.
I found my first blades today

digging through some stuff I had stashed with a friend

Packed in a tool kit

the things I brought from home.

It’s a strange feeling.
I found my first blades today

Spotted with rust around the points

where the coating had worn off from being sterilized with fire

 because that was my system.

I remember tucking them into my things

“just in case”

I remember thinking

I would have expected myself to have gotten into something like this long ago.
In retrospect, I did. 

but in a way too subtle for myself

pinches and scratches with nails clipped to points for defense

against others, or myself.

There was a mechenical pencil

with a metal tip

and one day I found out that if I jabbed it into my skin

at the right angle

blood would rise from the scrapes

If I drew a my nails across my body

I could raise lines of red and white

and for a while, it was enough.

I’ve always kept it a secret

less out of shame 

more out of being a shitty test case

just some emo trash

who wanted to hurt herself 

in a more romantic way

who thought

“I just want to see what it’s like is all”

driven less by depression

than a mix

of curiosity, emptiness, apathy

who pushed past the fear of willing harm

and turned around to find it gone

like confronting a monster in a dream

and finding it harmless


2 Legit 4 L8 Nite Shitposting

I threw together a song and it came out nice. It’s not terribly polished, but I’m okay with it and sometimes that’s enough.

I’m too legit to conform to late night shitposting.
I used to lie away at night and contemplate existence- 

think about the fragility of life while i stared at the clock, willing the numbers to slow down- 

time, the essence of life itself constantly plodding on

-But I moved on,

and I will tell you my secrets because it’s 4 in the morning somewhere and secrets are for spilling like the blood that spills from our bodies and the tears that don’t when we are hurt-

and we all hurt- 
time heals all things but there are an awful lot of people out there and I’d wonder if there’s enough time to go around 

but that’s gone now-

Time is a construct we made to ease our minds but it’s grown too small to hold our hearts

like bathrooms too narrow for our souls and in the end is is our bodies who suffer for us….
they say boxes are for squares but who cares when all I’ve known is a bed too short for my feet-

and you’d kill for a chair that won’t make your back ache- if they want to start with a blank slate then let them

but I need to rest for a few while I wallow in that and the fact-

life goes on while the skrubs get rekt and I don’t know if I’m playing the wrong server or the wrong game

but nothing matters because we’re all dying one day.
so you can keep your sadness all season long but I’m oceans ahead of you buddy

tripping on eternalism while you stumble on bud but that’s okay-

I just needed to believe in a world where tomorrow exists and I’m shitposting in it

because if I talk long enough I might speak something worth saying

instead of just praying to gods I don’t believe in to tell them about what I had for breakfast today
I’m too legit to conform to late night shitposting.

the void is coming for us all and I welcome the return to nothing where we all began

the big bang-

I’ll write my sorrows any time of day while you wait for it to kick in an hour past midnight

with cup in one hand and phone in the other

like a lover

but I’ve got work in the morning and anyway you probably only live once.



If I take enough personality quizzes,
if I answer enough anon asks,
If I fill out enough chain posts,

I will know who I am.

Home Is Like Dinner At A Buffet

The other day, I saw a post from a friend that got me thinking.

“Some people say home is where you come from. But I think it’s a place you need to find, like it’s scattered and you pick pieces of it up along the way.”

I thought many things. I thought:

Home is like dinner at a buffet-
You start with and empty plate and ideas of you you’ll fill it up with,
but as you pass different items at the counter you think
“Hmm, that might be nice” “That’s an option? SO GETTING IT”

There are some things almost everyone gets and some people might skip it, or eat it weird, but that’s their thing- it’s no one’s business but your own if you mash two cones into your ice cream and churn it into a mush, thankyouverymuch.

Then you get back to you table and maybe you realize you shouldn’t have gotten that much pasta salad even though it looked pretty good, but that’s okay, because you’ll get less next time.

Nano Poetry

During and after NaNoWriMo, I spent a fair bit of time in the poetry thread of the teem forums. Today I suddenly decided to go back and copy what I posted.


Woke up in the early morning;
why is it nine, and almost ten?
I must be out in half an hour
I hate to leave my nice warm den.
“Curses! Damn and blast it all!”
is my silent drowsy call.
as I get myself up and dressed
“FOOD” I think, it’s for the best
Still running on the time of writers
“Sleep? what sleep? Sky’s getting lighter!”
But my stomach does growl terribly so,
I must eat, then to work I go!

Okay, I went to bed at 2:20, martial arts class at 10:30~12:30, work at 1~7:30
SLEEP I LOVE YOU no go away, I’m trying to write.


Hot Toddy

“Of sweet honey take a spoon, of fine brandy another;
fruit of lemon a quarter use- these in hot tea do smother.
A fine hot toddy you have made to ward the bitter cold,
Drink it now, ere it cools, safe and warm in your abode”

Fermented Juice

“Fresh juice, pure, of equal measure, orange and grape combine;
Take yeast for baking, but a bit, hydrate in water to rewind.
These items, then, you shall take
In a clean bottle there be placed
an airlock tight across it’s face-
a pin-pricked balloon may that replace,
for contamination’s risk you must erase,
ere the final product be naught but waste.
Then comes the long time waiting for nature to do it’s work.
Check in five days, remove the sediment, it should be not quite as pert.
Sweeten with syrup made simply with sugar, recap it as done before,
wait two more days, chill it till cold and then it’s good times galore!”

Just A Title

Just a title.
What’s the matter?
But a status, it defines not oneself
Perhaps the norm, at one time or other.
Is that all you have to speak, the wary route of conversation and askence?
Perhaps I’d mind not this dreaded business,
mind not this now intrusive inquisition
cringe not inside as you ask,
were the road less weary.

If the trails of conversation be as roads in the land,
Then this is the forest where lay all close to me.

Tread soft on the unbeaten path
and you shall leave no mark.

Dash along by guidance of your map
and the forest shall grow over your footprints.

But when every explorer on the land
would make the pilgrimage
though the forest,

A trail shall be blazed.
The path be cleared (of trees)
and shops will rise
as if from the earth
enticing passerby
to walk the path
nay, the road.
Get the full tour
Hidden secrets
experienced guides
Please book in advance.

The Truth

It is said that the truth shall set ye free…

And it is said that knowledge is bondage.

Many things are spoke.

Don’t be a dick.

The Book of Night With Moon

‎”I am the wind that troubles the water; I am the water, and the waves;

I am the shore where the waves break in rainbows; I am the starlight that shines in the spray.

I am the trees that drink the light; I am the air of the green things’ breathing;

I am the stone that the trees break asunder; I am the molten heart of the world.

Where will you go? To what place will you wander?

In vale or hilltop, still I am there…

Will you sound the sea’s depth, or climb the mountain? In air or water, till I am there;

Will the earth cover you? Will the night hide you? In deep or in darkness, still I am there;

Will you kindle the nova, or kill the starlight? In fire or deathcold, still I am there…”

-Pieced from So You Want to Be a Wizard, Diane Duane

Existential Cookies

Existential crisis.

Life is precious.

Life slips by.
The days,
they blend together.
Hazy memories of yesterday;
what did I do?
Is not living like this an insult
to the very life I live,
to myself?
I baked cookies.

Perhaps existential crisis shall visit again.
Perhaps I will once again feel lost in a vast sea.
I don’t mind.
My cookie jar is with me, and I have milk.