Thin Air.

My mother said I look lifeless…


My mother said I look lifeless,

And I am inclined to agree.

I’ve taken an undead pallor;

You have made a ghost out of me.

The blame’s not entirely yours,

Though you certainly had a hand.

I have done this thing to myself,

Though it wasn’t the least bit planned.

I wanted to make myself scarce,

And disappear into thin air.

Any place is purgatory

As long as you are not found there.

The 3 Stages of Self-Destruction.

It’s easy as 1, 2, 3…


I want to take

A rusty pair

Of scissors

From the drawer

In the kitchen

And jaggedly

Cut into these

Chocolate curls

I am so well-known for.


I want to stare

At the bottom

Of a grimy, yellow

Toilet bowl

And vomit

Until my stomach

Is empty

And my throat

Is scraped raw.


I want to strip

Off all of my clothes

And go lie

In the angry

Summer sun,


When I burn

So badly

That my skin peels off,

I will find

Something better


The Spider and the Fly.

There was a spider…

Once, there was a small spider

Who lived in a mine that had caved.

It sat patiently watching

Little flies that would not be saved.

It spent its days in the darkness,

Among so much ruin and rot.

But something isn’t right here;

This isn’t what you might have thought.

The spider wasn’t evil,

The fly was not nothing but dumb.

It caught itself in the web,

And the venom made it go numb.

This fly had once been called good,

Wonderful, and clever, and bright.

But something had gone quite wrong;

It wandered away from the light.

Out came the spider, with stealth,

Eyes looking so earnest and kind.

They fancied each other friends,

But how could they both be so blind?

Their truce was not meant to last;

It was little more than a lie.

The fly wounded the spider,

And the spider wounded the fly.

Bleeding, they scurried away,

Each trying to clean up the mess.

All the old, good things now hurt;

It wasn’t the same, I’ll confess.

We can’t undo what we’ve done,

Though we’ll both continue to try.

Now I must ask you, truly:

Am I the spider or the fly?


Once, there was a siren…

Once, there was a siren who wished to run herself through on the rocks.

Once, there was a troll who wished to hang herself from beneath the bridge.

Once, there was a treacherous virgin who wished to be sacrificed.

Once, there was a princess who wished to throw herself from a tower.

Once, there was an opera singer who wished to cut out her own tongue.

Once, there was an atheist who wished to be nailed to a cross.

Once, there was a well-known girl with green eyes who had been trusted with so much, and she took that trust inside of her hands and she snapped it.

Wandering in the Wood.

I went wandering in the wood…

When I was a very young girl,

I went wandering in the wood.

I had always tried to be smart,

I had always tried to be good.

But the path was splitting in three,

And the sky had quickly turned black.

Hair rose on the nape of my neck,

But I knew I could not turn back.

A coyote started to howl,

And in fright, I ran from the sound.

My foot got caught on a tree-root;

I tumbled roughly to the ground.

The rocks cut my knees and my hands,

And oh, everything ached inside.

I curled myself up in the dirt;

I rocked back and forth as I cried.

Then I heard someone say my name,

Somewhere in the depths of the black.

The voice belonged to my father,

And he called for me to come back.

He said my wounds would never heal

If I let myself waste away.

This did not have to be the end;

I could keep the shadows at bay.

At first, I did not believe him;

I thought he was wrong about me.

But I proved even myself wrong–

I was stronger than I could see.

I pulled myself up from the dirt,

And found my way out of the wood.

He couldn’t save me from the dark:

I was the only one who could.