I know what fear tastes like, how it sinks into your soul and creates…dark, so much darkness that everything is a shadow or unlit alley, and I can’t even run because I have no idea if I’m running away from the danger or getting closer to it.

Red wine is what comes to mind

When I think of how you poison me.

It’s slow, delicate and good in small doses

But I’m overwhelmed and drowning in your sea.


You are bitter to some, smooth to others

It just depends on who you ask

To me, you are nothing more than an addiction;

I’m always looking for the next glass.   


You don’t rob me of my senses, but slowly

You work your way into my veins.

I’m not sure when you tipped the scales

And managed to drive my blood insane.


You turn me vulgar, you turn me sweet,

But of course those are just my lies.

I want you to be the real cause

But more likely that’s how I am inside.


You are my muse, the perfect drug;

Classy but able to break my will

So be my escape, my fast getaway,

Please, pour enough for the kill…


I think most people know this about me already, but I’m really, REALLY not good at this whole “living” thing.

It wasn’t an active process, just background noise, the gears turning and keeping me moving forward. One step, 2 steps, a stumble over a crack in this ancient cement driveway, a crack I’ve known since I was 5 years old, a crack I’ve avoided a 1000 times during games of tag, basketball, hopscotch. A crack that is somehow just now entering my consciousness, demanding to be seen, to be felt, demanding that I, at this very moment, experience a literal fall alongside my mental collapse. And that, my friends, is when I realized the truth; even if I’d spent an entire lifetime in one place, I never really knew anything at all before he came crashing into me…

It’s embarrassing to have to turn down every potential swimming adventure because you don’t want to ruin the fun when they see all those scars, those mistakes you obviously haven’t learned a damn thing from..

I’ve buried myself in the Baltic, burned into my skin this rough salt water. My shipyards left barren, the lighthouse now a beacon for shadows and shame. No bravery lives here. My dreams were left behind, so nothing but my terror remains, feeding off the eerie winds that sound during all seasons. These waves carry nothing to my shore’s; they only leech light during those rare sunny days, retreating into a blue so deep it’s like watching the Moon eclipse the sun. That blue is a darkness to numb my senses and dull this faint heart. I weep in the face of that brine, but I haven’t moved. I’ve made my home here, in this sea, far away from anything I could mistake as a reason to forgive.

Music Mondays: The Sonder Bombs

Okay, so this weeks featured artist is a little different from other artists I’ve shared in that I only discovered this band a little over 5 days ago. The Sonder Bombs are a local band (I live in NE Ohio and they are from Cleveland) that I heard while listening to an NPR segment on Uke Punk music. I had no idea what Uke Puke was, but I love Ukulele, and I love Punk, so I was curious enough to check it out, and I have to say it was the best decision I have made in the past year.

The sound is something familiar, but it molds so many of my favorite sounds that I’ve never thought about mixing that it creates a unique blend I can’t get enough of. I must have listened to this track, Switzerland, a few dozen times over the holiday weekend and it makes me feel…happy.


At home.

I’ve never been one to go see bands play live, but this is a local band trying to make a name for themselves, and I want to see them succeed, so I plan on seeing them live in their next couple of shows. Below is a link to there bandcamp, which has their next shows listed. I strongly encourage everyone to listen to this song, share this post if you enjoyed it, and spread the word about this amazing band.


I only wanted to call to say that I’m sorry, but I didn’t know what I’m supposed to be sorry for, and so I found myself saying goodbye before we ever had the chance to talk.

Have you ever found yourself leaning back in a chair so far that you fear you might just fall backwards and hit your head? Why lean so far back? Why keep pushing and pushing until you reach that ultimate tipping point, where gravity takes hold of you and forces you to accept physics as a thing, to realize you can only go so far backwards before you reach the ground? Of course this is simply a metaphor, a cheap attempt to try and explain to myself why I think I am failing. I want to think I was placed upon some great throne, a chair made of pure gold with jewels and rubies and other super valuable stones set in the back and sides and arm rests. Isn’t that how all humans are though? Don’t we all want to think that our lives are something more than mere coincidence? We want to think we are the masters of our fates, that we surely must be placed on this Earth for something more than just…just this, right? I’m not sure I ever was just like other people. I never felt okay with just..existing. Yet, I also didn’t feel worth the effort, worth striving to become something more. I think I was born on a simple wooden chair, and like an idiot true to nature, I rocked that chair back and forth until I reached a tipping point. Now, I could have fallen forward, right? Fallen where I could see the ground, fallen where I could put my hands out in front of me and catch myself before I hit, fallen where I could have saved myself and gotten back up, looked at my little broken chair, and just moved on, find another one, and start all over. So why did I let my final motion be backwards? Why did I take that final push to force me into a fall I couldn’t see, couldn’t save myself from?

~Because, when you know something is going to hurt, it is a cowards instinct to look away~

On good days I tell myself it’s a way to wash it all away and get a clean slate, and on bad days I try not to speak at all, to avoid drowning in my rush for some peace.

I’m beginning to see how it is

That the sea, so full to its brim,

So overflowing with creatures,

The very blossom of life, can feel

Blank, like the pallet of stars

Our God saw fit to place

Where we can never hope to reach.


Inside we hold a universe untold,

The light, hidden as unlit torches,

The bearers our hearts, our brothers

And sisters the sparks to catch

Our very souls on fire.


How does an Ocean wash itself clean?

The water flows with the Moon,

That mirror blush from a luminous star,

And clashes against hard creation.

Together, thus does earth turn to lemon sand

And the ocean spray become cerulean tears.

Now, how does the soul burn away sin?

Set out a heart, so that it may too

Someday become as forgiving

As the delicate cinders that become

The ashes, taken by a wind

To become the soot for another;

In that we see how our brothers

And sisters are the very soil

In which our own timbers take root.


Still, the Sea is not always against the shore,

As the heart is not always open

To the gentle embers of others.

In that sense, one can see how

Being in an endless ocean can seem


The depths await for cleansing,

A steady touch from mother Gaia

To let them know it’s okay to cry.

My soul stands and waits

On an edge, the last glass step

Towards the fiery stars that remain

Just beyond my reach.