There’s a throng of dark matter storms clustering at the base of my spine. 

C20H25N30 is encoded in the cord I decided to plug myself into when I 

was 15. Jami told me that I was waking up. That it would give me answers 

to questions that I didn’t yet know to ask. I still get confused when I relay 

the signals back and forth from my brain, to my spirit. I become hell bent 

on finding out, for sure, that’s there’s a difference between the two. 

I want there to be. 

I can’t really tell you why-

Because I want to die…

But I also want there to be an Eternity. 

I just want to be comfortable in it. 

Unlike this pock marked skin, I’ve been trying to find a way out of 

since I began to understand that it’s just a cage that throttles back 

my perception of what the Universe is and can be. 

I’ve watched the rain become wind. 

I’ve tasted colors, and heard the sound of love bouncing off smiles 

that were truly meant for me. I’ve held their laughter in my throat.

Savored them like fresh fruit from a garden that can’t be reached

by mortal hands. I’ve felt what it’s like to be inside a woman, 

that was inside of herself. Truly connected to the cosmos in a 

way that only teenage dreamers on classical psychedelics can 

imagine, comprehend, or even completely remember. 

But now that I’ve burned all the Bible pages, I had left inside of me.

I’m left with the darkest parts of the path to Nirvana. 

(With no serotonin or dopamine left to light the way.)

The hard shit. 

The existential fear that exposes the worst parts of who you are.

The kind of thing that passes through your mind, and you promise

yourself that you’ll never say it out loud. 

It’s too damn scary. 

These are the words left between myself and God.

Our inevitable conversation at the end of my journey.

The Dark Matter (at hand). 

The storms at the base of my spine. 

The anger I’ve suppressed. 

The nightmares.

The shame.

The primal instincts that make me want to deny his existence. 

He’ll crack my back and let all the flood gates open.

And I’ll cry.

Angry, and afraid. 

Wondering why I got to see such beauty.

Only to be left with the fear of being the reason

it all fades away.

Our Grey Sunrise

She’s anticipating colors that will

never rise in the sky- not here.

Not on a morning like this,

while sullen clouds are already

slitting their wrists. Coughing

up their torment and spitting

up nature’s hypocrisy against

the windshield that we took

shelter behind. We sealed ourselves

up in that metal coffin, let the wheels

turn into the ditch and laughed.

I thought it would carry us through.

That the mud in my eyes would help

me see just clearly enough; to forget the

truth of why I let go. Because that’s

what she wanted. We wrote poetry

on the glass with our fingers-

watched the blood run down and

fall onto the leather I always kept

so clean. I always kept all of it, so clean.

She hated that. “Nothing lasts”

“Certainly not this fucking heap, you

love so God damned much”

Smoke danced its way through the

air vents and began to fill up the cab.

We were curled up on our own little

dance floor, too tired move. But we

held each other as the fire began to

sing. “The only thing that’s missing

is my fucking sunrise. I just wanted

one more. The orange, the red..ye- “

Her voice was gone, but her mouth

still moved. Like the tires in the mud,

Relentlessly trying to make its impact.

I closed her mouth. Pressed my lips

against hers. Wiped the words from the

glass. “Our secrets, our grave. Our grey


Side Effects

Her eyes are muddied from the weight of 

of side effect warnings.

Prescription leaflets scattered across

The table- worried that the man she loves

Will become something she does not 


She’s familiar with the night terrors, 

And depressive episodes. 

The “jokes” of suicide. 

But she wonders if she can take 

The decedent nature of an 

Overprescribed love. 

He can be so beautiful when 

He’s free. 

“Does he really need all of this?”

She opens the pillbox and injects 

The coming week with a new 

Myriad of chemicals. 

Counting, and praying-

Hoping that she’s not an

Accomplice for killing the 

Spirit of a man who she 

Knows is better than his affliction. 

In the morning she’ll make him 

Breakfast. She’ll pour him a glass of

Orange juice and watch as he takes 

In the alleged cure. 

Hoping he doesn’t wake up and 

Become somebody else. 

That he’ll still love the way she 

Holds him at night. 

The fact that she is always there. 

He smiles. 

“Thank you, Hun. This is great.”


I touched the face of God-

Only to be bitten by the snake that

Robbed us of Eden.

I watched his face. Legions of lost

Souls twisting in and out of focus,

Morphing into the next crooked

Visage. But his voice was always the same. 


He didn’t need to speak.

His words had always been rooted

In some dark place inside of me.

A curse that was destiny.

Passed down through eons-

The daggers in my eyes twisting

The promise of damnation if the

Price isn’t paid.

There’s a reason people say I’m

An old soul. I saw the beginning-

The extravagant colors dancing.

Becoming. Entrancing. Tying up the

Gift in a slip knot.

And I felt the ending. Being pulled

By the hand of man. Just to see

What happens.

Smashing Pumkinss

We were bloody.

Bearing the weight 

of a gaping moon like 

young Titans- 

full of arrogant imagination. 

We ran, hellbent.

House after house

playing tricks- 

casting spells with 

veracious foolishness. 

That first pumpkin was 

my stepfather. I watched 

as his carved-out grimace 

became the nothingness 

I was determined to fill with 


I screamed the lyrics to our 

favorite Hatebreed song down

every street. Letting the Universe 

know that no matter how insignificant 

the World thought we were. 

We would be heard. 

All of us, brothers. 

Bound by dark matter-

the silent replies to our

prayers that we’d never 

admit to sending out;

Together we didn’t need

Him, The Devil, or anyone else. 

We were fearless, because we had 

each other. And the might of bond,

not in blood shared but spilled as one. 

Parents tried to chase us.

Reign us in. 

We laughed and taunted-

swinging our pillowcases 

full of savory sin with a sense 

of joy that only a lost boy could

even begin to understand. 

Hands covered in slime, and seed

thundered together and sent out our 

cacophony of delight as I tipped over 

the HOA’s Porta Potty. 

Red and blue lights flash. 

Someone has had enough.

We escape into the woods. 

Sit on the edge of Willow Creek,

and light up a bowl of dirt weed. 

The creek was shallow that year.

But our hearts could fill it up.

All that life pulsing, racing through

our ephemeral- jack’-o-lantern husks. 

Smoke signals went up that night.

As we exhaled our silent melancholy. 

I think we all had some sort of hope

there, in that place. That our rage 

would be sated. That we would be

enough to keep each other safe from 

what we could already sense 

was encircling us. 

We never wore masks.

Not until we got older, grew apart. 

And began to see we had to hide 

that primal nature inside ourselves to 

keep the moon from breaking our 

backs. Because, we don’t have 

each other for that anymore. 

But I’m pulling mine off tonight. 

Have a good look- 

The scars. The worry lines. 

The bloodshot eyes. 

That same grimace I tried to destroy-

lighting up the room as if it were 

carved to scare you away. 

But I am no totem.

No walking masquerade to incite 

any sort of terror, or joy for that matter. 

I’m just another pumpkin head-

candle dwindling… 

Waiting to be smashed. 

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