Prose: Self-Harm

Anything anyone has ever told me could never be as hurtful as the things I’ve told myself.

Michigan Man

Never did I think I’d fall for you

What a pleasant surprise

A spark I know still exists

How could I believe a Michigan man could feel again?

I hear the weather up there turned your heart quite cold

No matter how hard I tried to use a warm heart like mine

I found myself sick from the cold you brought

Even now after all the hurt

My heart still radiates warmth throughout me

If you ever find your way back to the southern states

I hope you know I still think of you the same

There is  plenty of space in my heart

For someone like you


I know one day you will have a warm heart too




You left when I needed you the most

I don’t know if I could forgive you after all I’ve been through

Prose: Dream

Maybe one day these sleeping pills will allow me to dream forever instead of waking and living a nightmare.

Prose: Wrong Timing

I may not talk to you. I may brush it off when someone I know mentions your name. However, deep down I miss you like hell.  It’s not when I’m just lonely.  It’s not just late at night.  It’s all day, every day. I care and always will. It was just wrong timing. It always is, isn’t it? I’ll meet you in another lifetime.

Prose: Purpose

Purpose trumps happiness. Purpose gives meaning to life. Happiness is just an emotion that vanishes as fast as it appears. Find your calling so that you will live a life of meaning and one that is worth telling.


I agree with Hemingway that writing isn’t hard

You do just bleed out your feelings

Only problem is, the bleeding never ceases

Coping with your darkest secrets

We writers feel the most

Writing poetry just to pick up the pieces

Never Complete

Alone I am

Forever I shall be

An old soul like me

Will never be complete


I thought about ending for a long time

Until one night I dreamt of my fate

And in it, — I in the coffin

My lovely mother beside it; Completely torn

I knew now why ending simply didn’t make the pain stop

It made it endure and transform

Into something much much more



Hypomania we meet again, such a dear old friend

Without you, my best work wouldn’t exist

Ah, but you always leave in the end

You’re part of the disorder I always miss