Sick Day

As I barricade myself

In a blanket fort,

While choking down 


And NeoCitrans

And Fisherman’s Friends,

I am left

In my own world

Of solitude,

Of coughing up my lungs,

And praying for my chest.

Naps are many,

But not of good quality.

I’m always tired,

And tired always.

I wish only

To beat this sickness

And be better,

Like I was before this all happened.


I can’t remember….

It feels like I’ve been


For so long….

Oh well,

Put the kettle on,

Fill the medicine cup

To the ten mL line,

And let me tip back

The concoction

That could only be described

As pure nasty.

Let me nap

And rest

And pray

That my sickness will leave me







Ello, ello, ello!

Haven’t written in a long minute! Holy crap!

Well, let me update you: I GOT SICK.

So, I was thinking how I could be productive, and all I wanted to do was write.

So I got a poem out of it!

Let me know what you think!

Choking down another shot of Buckley’s,




*WARNING* Possible rant? I don’t even know yet…. Let’s just talk and see where this sh*t show takes us, hmm?

There’s these little things that keep triggering me, that keep bringing back a thought or a feeling or an emotion, that I thought – and almost wished – I’d forgotten about. I keep getting hit with all of this nostalgia, remembering sh*t that had happened to me in the past, and things I’ve learned and grown from, and I just… I don’t even know. I honestly do not know. Like, I sort of like remembering things that hold a place near and dear in my heart, because they have shaped me and made me grow as a person. But then I hate it because it feels like it’s ripping my heart from my chest.

You feel?

Like, it’s just brought back by little things that I remember – seeing a picture or a quote, or just some really simple sh*t that would have no other real relevance – and at first, it’s nice. It’s comforting. It’s like things used to be, before the pain and heartache.

But then, reality seems to slap the sh*t out of my heart and it hurts, it burns, and the pain feels like it’s unbearable. Like, things can’t be like they used to be. Things aren’t simple anymore, and they can’t be fixed with a wad of duct tape and some glitter stickers.

The pain’s been done, and I cannot fix it.

It hurts. Things like that really hurt. And I wish it didn’t hurt that way, but it does. And I guess, all that can happen now is to either dwell on it, grow from it.

And I really don’t want to dwell on it.

So… onward and upward? Keep on keeping on? Build a bridge and get over it?

Thanks for letting me word vomit. This is different from my normal “blogs”, but this was just on my mind, and I just thought I’d write it off, and share that little tidbit, about my weird and somewhat confusing brain. Still trying to figure out how to read the fricken manual.

Forever hitting the snooze button,


An Ode To My Darkest Days

You saved my life.

That is not an exaggeration,

Or an overstatement,

Or a wild and crazy lie I’ve taken years and years to create.

My Darkest Days,

You saved my life,

And continue to save my life.

You first came to me one dark and painful day.

A day of black and white,

Of numbness and void,

Of loneliness and the feeling of wanting to die.

There was nobody for me to turn to.

Not my friends,

Not my family,

Not people who said they cared when I knew they didn’t.

Music was there to comfort me,

Taking me into its soft and caring arms,

Telling me everything was going to be okay,

That there’s always a rainbow after the storm.

And that was when I met you.

You sat idly by,

As if staying close to make sure I was okay.

You came and introduced yourself,

And I was immediately hooked.

You soothed me,

You took care of me,

You saved me.

You made me feel like I was strong,

That I was going to make it out alive,

That nothing could bring me down to the point of wishing for my very last breath to happen already.

You have ways been there for me.

Through the years, you never left my side.

You always came back to make sure I had a place to turn to,

And I always turned to your loving arms.

My Darkest Days,

Thank you,

For being there for me when nobody else was.

For guiding me through the void.

For showing me the rainbow after the storm.

For holding my hand and never letting go.

My heart will always belong to you.

I love you,

My Darkest Days.






Forever listening to My Darkest Days,


My Greatest Fear

Branches snap beneath my feet as I run as hard as my body will let me, away from the very thing I fear most.

The black sky above me feels as though it’s crushing me, allowing very little light to show me the way. Like it, too, has teamed up with my greatest fear, and hopes to destroy me all the same.

Aside from the snapping branches, my racing heart is the only other sound I hear. Like it’s going to beat its way out of my chest, and explode like fresh bombs around me, as if they’re being dropped from the black sky above. Like the very thing that proves I’m still alive could just as simply end my life.

Winding past gnarled trees and over knotted roots, balance becomes something I no longer have, and something I desperately crave. With no light, my sight becomes useless, like sunglasses at night.

The black sky is taking out my senses.

Chilling me to the bone is this cold winter night. I cannot feel, or even comprehend, whether my body is working or not, like it should. And since there is no balance, I nearly know if up and down are where they’re supposed to be.

The ground slaps my face then, as if it, too, is against me. The dead leaves cover everything there is, as if trying to smother any sign of life. They cover me, too, as if they’re still trying to complete that task.

My limbs don’t listen to me as I try to get up. They lay, unmoving, as I will them to even twitch. I only receive stillness from them.

In the dead of this cold winter night, my racing heart begins to slow to a dull beat. It is now that I truly realize one small thing, as my greatest fear creeps up on me, taking my last breath:

I am doomed.






Forever fearing,


Crystalline Ice

Crystalline ice, falling from the sky. Most think it’s pretty – beautiful, even. They don’t know the truth behind the angelically white snow. The horror that exists behind the immortal beauty, and the war that ensues between opposing worlds.

Black sky, frostbite breeze, and that crystalline ice that’s falling from the sky.

Gunshots echoing even louder in the cold. Coming from a chilled and smoking rifle barrel, aimed directly at a scared little girl, who’s crying so much that her blood red tears freeze to her cheeks. Her loved ones, fallen dead all around her in the snow, seek to sink into themselves in true death.

The night’s deadliest creature, the man thinks from behind the chilled barrel, his wild eyes locked on the scared little girl. As innocent as they may seem, they all have to die.

The immortal child cries, pleads, BEGS. But the vampire hunter only tightens his grip on the rifle, and pulls the trigger.

Echoing gunshots, frostbite breeze, and that crystalline ice that falls from the sky.

Most think it’s pretty – beautiful, even. They don’t know the truth behind the angelically white snow. The horror that exists behind the immortal beauty, and the war that ensues between opposing worlds.






Ello, ello, ello.

Just another vampire piece.

Forever baring my fangs,


So Be It

I walk this highway, with no real destination in mind. It’s all about the journey, they say. So be it.

Hitchhikers die all the time, my best friend screamed at me before I left; even now, I swear I can hear her voice on the wind.

She always worries so much. That’s why I like her, I guess. She worries enough so that I don’t have to. I mean, I probably should, but…. I don’t know. Living carefree feels blissful sometimes; I couldn’t imagine worrying about things to ruin that feeling.

Cars and trucks whip last me, also seeming to have no destination in mind. Back and forth, they never stop coming and going. Where from and where to, it doesn’t matter.

Like everybody says, it’s all about the journey. So be it.

A beat up black pickup passes me, its right turn signal on as it pulls off on the shoulder. The passenger side window rolls down, inviting me. Inside the truck, behind the wheel, sits a man with kind eyes. He asks me if I need a lift, and the chilling breeze around me screams the voice of my best friend, reminding me hitchhikers die all the time.

Her voice fades as I lift myself into the cab of the beat up black pickup, closing the door behind me.

This man is friendly; during the ride to the next city, we talk. He’s a decent conversationalist, never letting the conversation lull. It’s almost nice.

The grey day turns to night, and the truck rides on.

Until it pulls off the highway, at a rest stop.

He cuts the engine, locks the doors.


He leans over.

Touches me.




Still doesn’t.



Can’t breathe.


He dumps my body in a dirty ditch between where I’d been and where I was going, and drives off into the night without looking back.

Like everybody says, it’s all about the journey. So be it.







Last Thursday, I was inspired by the theatre group I go to. And so here is a dedication to the ever-taking Highway Of Tears.

Thumb out with a gun in my bag,


Ode to Music

You’ve always been there.

Even when I had no clue what to think,

What to feel,

Or what to do,

You were always ready to lend a shoulder to lean on.

To cry on.

You always held your warm arms wide,

So I could collapse into them

In times of stress and fear,

Fatigue and confusion,

Need and want.

Whenever I was stuck,

Or lost,

Or completely off the beaten path of life,

You were there

To redirect me

And make sure I was safe

And didn’t do anything 

I would regret later

When the stress made me void.

You’re like the friend I never had,


You were there for me.

Whenever I needed you,

You were there for me.


From the deepest pits of my heart,

And with every breath I breathe,


I thank you dearly,

And I am more than grateful

To have you in my life.

Thank you

For sticking with me 

Through all of life’s troubles

And random other bullshit

That happened to happen.

Thank you

For being there for me

When I felt like I had

Absolutely nothing.


Thank you.






Ello there. I see you’ve made it to the end of this post…. Brave, you are. I appreciate that.

But, turning back to this piece; 11pm, have to be up at, like, 4am, but I chose to write an ode to music because sleep is rude and doesn’t seem to want to sit and talk… also, I’ve learned writing is a great way to occupy yourself when you can’t sleep. Which translates to: I’ve been getting a lot of writing done.

But yeah, music has always been there for me. And honestly, I don’t think I’d survive much without music to guide me. There’s been many situations in my life, where I didn’t know where to turn, who to talk to or see to help – and I’ve just put on the headphones and cranked the volume, and music is one of the best friends I’ve come to know.

So, thank you so much, music. Without you, I don’t even know where I’d be.

Forever cranking the volume ’til the windows shake,



I am the hunter, and the hunted.

And it’s really starting to get on my nerves.

The general public does this thing, where they assume that lycanthropes “like” being gunned down and killed, like it’s our weekend hobby that we can’t get enough of. We “like” being captured alive, and taunted like we’re worthless little pets. Studied for “science“, because our kind is some sort of sick scientific breakthrough that humans must discover in order to carry on.

I’ve lost comrades that way. I’ve watched my pack brothers fall, killed in cold blood, and humans walk away like they’ve done the greatest thing on earth known to mankind. While I howl at the moon, mourning my lost brother, they dissect him inside of a locked and secured compound and take a peek inside of him, looking for what makes him tick.

And there’s nothing I can do.

Fighting back isn’t an option – they have guns and numbers. They have weapons of all sick sorts, that easily puts my strength and claws to shame.

And I’m just me.

But I promise. One day. I will avenge the fallen, and I will not hesitate to kill the whole human race if I have to.

Until the next full moon.






Until the next full moon,


Vinyl Record

That vinyl record takes me back,

Back to when times were simpler,

Stress was non-existent,

And worries were gone.

They don’t make that kind of music anymore,

Do they?

Where’s the soul?

Where’s the heart?

Where’s the real music that isn’t in it only for a profit?

If only we could turn back the clock,

And tap our toes

To the good ol’ rock and roll,

Perhaps the world could be

A happier place.

A safer place.

A place where true bliss really exists.


When I put the needle down,

That vinyl record takes me back.

Back to when times were simpler.

Stress was non-existent.

And worries were gone.






Ello, ello, ello!

I was listening to music, and I guess I just miss the old stuff; music nowadays doesn’t have the same ring to it.

Stuck in the past,


Stargazing – 75 Word Short Story

Lying on my back, I watch the silver stars, dancing high up in the sky, as if they’ve got their own ballroom music playing someplace that I can’t see.

The grass beneath me feels like silk, as if I’m laying on the softest bed ever made, and it’s just for me.

The warm summer breeze around me hugs me gently, like a big blanket, intent on making me feel welcome and loved, where I belong.






Ello, ello, ello!

Another 75 word short story…. Literally, when in doubt, always turn to these things! With only a few words, it allows the potential for so much creativity. I will never get tired of these, and thick certainly will not be the last one I write.

If you like these weird things I write, I’m so happy that it’s okay. I’m not writing to please people, to impress people, or to be something I’m not: I write to express my emotions, my thoughts, and who I am as a living and breathing creature in this wild and chaotic world.

Thank you so much for the read; honestly means the world to me.

Naturally high on life,