Anonymous asked: Tell me something that terrifies the hell out of you.

The fact that I can’t resist the urge to write about C. 

Goodness gracious, am I ever going to get over this? I don’t think so, not at all.

Anonymous asked: Dare: Post at least 3 selfies.

I’m so noob with internet slangs that I had to google what selfies were. 

I don’t have solo selfies, because I really don’t know how to pose. These pictures were taken last January and April respectively. Sorry, I only have two. (But you don’t really get anything from this, so it doesn’t matter, right?)

I know there are days where your head becomes too heavy to be held still. Days where your heart breaks into a thousand raging seas, where the fault lines of your bones begin to reappear. 

Let your anxiety depart through the broken pavement of your past. 

You are much more than a clear evening sky; that is to say: I could trace the constellations of your scars from this day onward, and still be amazed of what I see in every second, the intervals between these micro-moments, to the point where these things have to end.

Child of the golden sun, tell me, what has kept you radiant for so long? Listen, I’ve been staring at the sky’s army of fireworks and stars, just to see how to get out of the dark. I wanted to be bright. I wanted to be brilliant. Orange-burnt in the essence of the light—so drunk with sunshine. You are divine. So full of life. Because in that one moment where our paths crossed, you resurrected a life that was once lost. Wanted to tell you a multitude of things, but I didn’t know where to start. Do you see what I’ve become? 

You lit a fire in my small torch heart.

Anonymous asked: Love is?

“Love is a verb.” (Mayer, 2012) which is to say: that “the act of love is always a confession.” (Camus, n.d.)

Anonymous asked: I want to know what a breakup is like.

Break up is:

v. disperse: to cause to separate and go in different directions

Waking up in the middle of the night. Apologizing to your God, for building temples for the past and for worshiping a photograph, that face, a monument of love; such a lonely pilgrimage. Kissing the next man who speaks of devotion. One kiss, two kisses. Still devoid of emotions. Vodka, the taste of sin. Hailing a cab from a trail of broken cars. Contemplating to escape. Wanting and would not be consoled. Pulling out a cigarette. Burn, burn, burn the memories. Taking one more drag to burn, burn, burn the pain. Please take it all away, take it all, take it—a beep—

I hope you’re doing well. I love you, and I’m proud of you.

Alive. Alive once more.

Personal Goals

• Be healthy/ier? Balanced diet and all that. I’ve been gaining so much weight lately (HELLO FOOD INDUSTRY) and i’ve been getting sick a lot too
• Austria Summer 2014. Gotta renew the passport and take care of the papers. Pocket money too.
• Try acrylic/oil or watercolor and oil pastel combination
• Ukulele?
• Start working on that novel and actually try to staple together all the fragments i’ve written on various sheets of paper, on different days. (because i don’t have a notebook for that)
• New Job around April or May next year? Maybe in the clinical setting this time? Plus the patience to last that long in my current job

so yeah? let’s do this. whatevs, this makes sound really shallow i guess

I’ve never been loved like this. Never been loved like this. Never been. Never will again. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

This is for the moments that refuse to be named, fragments that have landed on the ground like a grenade. Something inside me wants to get out. Maybe they’re shadows. maybe they’re stars. Call them what you will.  This insatiable fire. This boundless force. Like a plot hidden under my repentant tongue. I don’t know what I’ve become but I don’t get paid to imagine. I don’t know anything about the descent. Except for the part where I started to use the form of past tense.

Fragmented memories. That classic air. That visual feast. That olfactory landscape. Your face, a clear definition, of what love looked like.

This brain is a crowd. These neurons have been rain-dancing for hours—sulfuric acid everywhere. They’re all having fun. They’re all having fun with me, as they chant, “Relapse, relapse.”

There is no room for negotiation when your heart is no longer your own. So you start to beg, beg, beg for your need to be turned inside out, and to make everything truly vacant, that is to say: to make rooms free from ghosts that lingered in your sheets. Admit it. You’ve been swallowing compasses in hopes of finding a home, burning bridges in defiance to what has gone. Listen. We’re lost, okay? But we’re lost together.

Anonymous asked: Hey there. Not to sound high and mighty but in your latest poem, I think you meant to say "it is now safe to..." instead of "it is safe now." Kinda make it more "flowy", right? Just thought it might be a typo or whatever.

Hello there, not high and mighty person. :)

I appreciate the message. It’s not a typo. I deliberately wrote that line in that structure to give it a stop. Like a chunk of sorts. It wasn’t meant to flow. It was meant to pause for a brief moment, while we ask, “Safe from what? From all kinds of things?”

Because hey, even a gun has a safety grip.

Did that make sense? Ugh, I suck at explaining things, sorry.