Did I ever tell you how much I hate the colour yellow? I can’t see that stupid colour without thinking about you. Your favourite colour was yellow and I think that’s the funniest part of it all. You had a yellow car to go with your best yellow shirt that just so happen to conveniently match the little yellow pill you took every single damn day.


There was a window at the Crossroad

There was a window at the crossroad

I tried to open it                                     they said it’d help me to breathe

but the only thing it’s done is suffocate the truth out of me

My soul feels vandalized                             Is this being fine


There was a window at the crossroad

It was stained black                                         and tainted red

it had the words ‘Monsters Live Here’ carved above my head

Something about it was familiar                 This is home


There was a window at the crossroad

I’m counting voices                                        But I can’t find mine

there are too many things I should have done differently

I can see it in the window pain                     In the way they call my name

The Guilt of Growing Up

I’ve been stacking boxes for the last 17 Goddamn days

I’ve been making memories

just so I could store them for future generations

To prove to them that I was alive

See this picture right here                       Yeah this one

See I’m smiling                                         I was alive once

Naked with Black Socks

It was last Monday                         It’s always last Monday

and there I was just standing there

Fully exposed

with just the last bit of remaining evidence

showing where I’d been

Some might say I’ve been to hell and back

but who knew they dressed so fashionably there


Gone Forever but I May be Back Tomorrow

Gone Forever but I May be Back Tomorrow”

That’s what her note said. She handed it to me with this worried smile as she turned to board the train. She taped this old picture to it with a crusty piece of tape, it said “Do you know what’s wrong with this picture? There’s two footprints in the sand and both are mine.”

I suppose that she wrote that thinking it would crush me and I’d run back to her begging for another chance but the only thing I can focus on is this piece of tape. She never did like to throw away anything and by the looks of it it’s been used a few times. I’m surprised it held that old picture to the note. She was always funny like that though, she never could fully let go of anything.

The Night Doesn’t Exist

The night doesn’t exist

I learned that the night I learned how to die

It was the same night I stopped erasing my mistakes

I didn’t see a point in it anymore, although I don’t see much of anything now

I tried cursing in the face of God

I yelled until I realized no one was there.


My existence is offensive

and my language is expansive

It’s expensive these words that sprout of of my mouth

You can’t tell me death isn’t what all of this is about

You can’t tell me how this isn’t my fault

So here I’l start by tearing through every lie I tell myself

it happened again last night

I carved Stop Doing Bad Things into my skin

You’d think I’d get the message by now