Category Archives: Stories

Not sure yet.

I question things. I question everything. Its just who i am, i need to figure things out. i have an insatible need to know. If i were honest its just my way of protecting myself. If i can figure something/someone out before they figure me out I can protect myself or if need be defend myself. But it never scares me, I’ve never afraid of not knowing, because it will come about eventually. But with you, its scary because I’m just not sure of whats next and that means it could go anyway, good or bad. its a risky situation. I just want things to work out.


Out on the Balcony

Out on the balcony. Out from the party. Thats where you’ll find me. Out on the Balcony, chatting up the girls who’d rather smoke than talk. Out there in the frigid winter air, the warm summer nights, and the damp spring evenings, out there is where you’ll find me. talking to the girls whose sadness lies just beneath what everyone sees. Just beyond what everyone believes to be true. This is when they’re open. When they’re smoking out on the balcony with a stranger to breathe with. they stare outward, looking at nothing, intently searching for something. Out on the balcony.

The Winning Lottery Ticket.

The past is so much softer. Like a dream you’re just beginning to forget. A world made of clouds and softness. Its so much easier to live when you know what good parts to live to fullest and the worse ones to change. The past was so much better because you weren’t thinking about yesterday.


I’ll be the one that collects things

you be the one that does things.

I’ll be the one that remembers everything

and you can be the one that forgets it all.

I’ll stand in the distance thinking of you

while you try to place my face.

The memory of you will stop me in cold daylight

And you’ll greet me with such cheer

then forget me just as easily.

The Visitation.

Death came to me once. she was dressed in black with eyes as wide as the moon, milky black pools that covered most of her face.

Death came to me once and said “you’re not good enough”.

So I live on.

Then I woke up.

And I held her close as I carried her in my arms, and whispered one last thing before it all ended.

“I love you” I said.

she said “I love you too.”

Even then I didn’t believe it. Even then I heard the dishonestly in her voice. I wanted to say more, tell her I knew she didn’t, but it was a nice thought, that in the moment I needed to believe. So I held her close one last time.

Then I woke up.


Her hair was golden when we met, fiery red in the middle, and black in the end. just like our relationship. sweet when it began, a fierce and passionate middle, and a dark end. subconsciously she was signaling the change in seasons between us. I am a sentimental man.

Time travel is not impossible. it is uncontrollable, atleast for me. good, bad , boring, fun, peaceful, sexy, scary, disgusting, anything memories, they all pain me, scar me. there is no escape. But you Chloe, you pain me the most. Suddenly I’m in a knoll and the blue, cloudless, sky overcast us. not touching but deeply connected. I love this memory. Or is it fantasy? i can’t tell the difference these days. so many daybreaks and twilights have past since you were a constant in my world i can barely tell fact from fiction anymore. Were you real? Did it happen? Were you someone i went to school with? Saw on the bus? Or read in a book, and just pieced your beauty together better than i thought god could from magazines and daytime soap operas.

I still write you. I wrote you so many letters, but they sit, unread, with such stillness and quiet that would blow my eardrums on a bad day. I leave them next to the door, and everytime  i leave the house, every time, i pick them up with a determination i never feel anymore, that only you made me feel. They obviously do not leave the house. everytime i think of sending them, i think of something new to add, something left unsaid.

theres nothing you didnt say, nothing held back. every thought, every feeling, every useless emotional stance you took to my offensive nature. My walls were built by an infant with wild dreams in mad surroundings. they were nothing to you. You never knew them. And in your arms i never knew of them too. my walls, they would be as if pictured in a real world a scarred beaten, graffitied brick wall. faded from time and natured with a billion little marks from people beating at it day in and day out trying to reach the inside. all doomed to fail. Maybe all that constant abuse revealed a crack which you slipped through, or maybe there was an unbeaten path which you found, made all for you in the early time.