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,


Certain Death – 75 Word Short Story

Silver moon, turning all below it deadly; nothing is safe this time of night.

The terrified girl ran, her heart hammering out of her chest. Fear flowed through her blood like it was part of her, like no matter how far she ran, she’d never get away from it.

Panicked, she froze at the edge of the riverbank, it rushing below her. Certain death.

A deep chuckle came from behind her. “You give up, sweetheart?”






Ello! Here’s boredom. When in doubt, 75 word short story.

Forever in doubt,


Dear Home

Dear Home:

War is a scary thing. It takes souls and drops bodies, faster than a grown man can fall to his knees in the mud and cry for it all to be over.

I didn’t think it would be like this: guns firing, bombs dropping, men screaming. Nobody sleeps in the trenches, as much as sleep tries to make them; everybody’s got one eye open. Paranoia seems to be as rough to get rid of as the common cold. As revolting as it is, we hug our rifles to feel safe, then shiver and shove the barrel to the side when we realize we’re hugging Death.

War shows you what blood is supposed to look like, not that anybody asked. Bullets and bombs take the insides out, and sometimes puts the outsides in. I’ve learned I don’t like how warm blood feels when you’re trying to stop a wound from leaking. It’s almost like the warmer it is, the quicker Death comes to collect.

There’s never leave out here. And when there is, it means you’re going to die. Maybe that’s what we all want: not death, exactly, not the pain, but peace. A stop to all of this chaos and bloodshed. We fight in a pointless war, lose so many souls, and where do we end up? We don’t advance in anything except a body count. And heartache. Heartache always comes with it.

As hard as it is, and terrifying as it seems, we can’t stop. We want to, but it’s like that’s not an option; like the only way out of this sick and twisted war is to fight to the death – doesn’t matter who’s death, either.

I’ll make it home soon, I promise. Just think of me happy, and I’ll always be there.


Your son from war






Ello! Remembrance Day is coming soon, and that made me think: what was it like, fighting so young in a war that nobody wanted to be a part of? A million miles from home, what would it be like? So, this piece became a thing.

I can’t imagine what it would have been like, and sometimes I wish we didn’t have to lose so many wonderful souls to be where we are…. But I can’t turn back time, as much as I wish I could.

Eternally fighting a never-ending war,


My Soul

My soul was sold to the devil some many years ago.

He took it, like he took everything: proudly, dangerously, selfishly.

Not sure what he would want with a thing as damaged as that.

But hey, I don’t judge.

I didn’t need it anyways; it would only slow me down.

Years passed.

Heartache hit me, not that I cared.

I’d lost some friends along the way, or at least that’s what they wanted me to think they were.

Liars and cheats,

Toxic little beasts.

But without a soul, their backstabbing hurt me less, like it was only a poke.

Their poisonous words melted down to nothing, and vanished out of sight and out of mind.

Their relentless taunting and teasing was like a pesky breeze, and all I needed to do was close the window.

I was getting used to surviving without the pain.

Being alive without living in fear.

Breathing without the paranoia.

Until that one night.

Black as black could ever be, with not a star to be seen in that hollow sky.

Up the road he walked.

With only that deadly and desperate look in his eyes.

Right to my front door.

Three clear knocks: of course it’s three. It’s always three.

I open the door.

He places a cold and broken thing in my hands.

“I’m giving this back; I need a favour.”






Ello! Haven’t been writing in a while, and here’s finally a piece!

And about this piece…. It’s certainly interesting. I was up late recently, couldn’t sleep, so I was writing. (Naturally.) The next morning, I read over what I had written, and I had absolutely no recollection of even writing this piece…. So, yes! Certainly an interesting piece, this is.

With that being said, feel free to give your thoughts on this, and if you’d like to suggest for future pieces, I’d like to hear all of it!

Drifting through consciousness,


Motivation – Lyrical Poetry

Listening to this beating heart

And it just feels so wrong

Like it’s not supposed to be

Surviving and headstrong
Above my mind races

With the possibilities

And my wide open eyes

Are doubting what they see
Like what I know to be true

Is wrong and incomplete

And karma is supposed to

Knock me off my feet
But I will just stand up again

And lift my head up high

I will never give up hope

And let me tell you why
I am much stronger

Than I’ve ever been before

Now my soul is lifted

And my heart’s not on the floor
From this day on I will not

Let stress depress me

Just take a breath and baby steps

And live life like it was meant to be






Ello! Well, this is lyrical poetry. And a small thing you should know, is I haven’t written lyrical poetry since highschool. I’d stopped writing it, because I haven’t had many pleasant experiences with it: when I used to write this style, it was like I’d poured my heart onto the page, and it was always too much when I read them back – it scared me, honestly. So, I stopped writing this style, in the hopes that I would never have to go back to it again.

Well, we can all see how well that worked!

Quite recently, I have had some motivation. Motivation given to me from a dear friend of mine. And they had suggested that although this scared me, that I’d become a better and stronger person because of it. So, although hesitant, I gave it a shot.

And you, my dear friend, I am so thankful that I have met you, and I’m so thankful that you had suggested I return to what scares me. I honestly wouldn’t have done so otherwise. I owe you.

And, in conclusion, perhaps I will be writing more of similar nature. We’ll have to see.

Poetically inspired,



Every human being in the world has to try to sit down with themselves, and figure out a plan for what they want to do for the rest of their lives. We create a plan, set goals, and work toward it, no matter what we do.

But what about those of us who have no idea what we want to do, or where to even start?

We’ve been told by people who know better what they want to see us do, even if that doesn’t agree with us. We have passions, but we’re told we can’t do them. “They’re irrational.” We have to do what we’re told, like we don’t have any other choice.

But, I would like to live my own life. I just don’t know how.

Hours are tight, sleep is non-existent, and money never lasts as long as we want it to.

Where do we go, when we start at nothing? The motivational thing to say would be: we go onward and upward. But it’s not that easy. It’s never that easy.

Hard work gets you places, even though it breaks your back, your heart, and your soul in two. It seems like the more efforts you put into your goals, the harder it is to obtain them.

I don’t know anymore.

Still trying to stay positive, but I’m starting to forget how.

Sorry for the rant. I’m simply confused.

Praying for clarity,


Multiple Languages

Tabloids and fans think it’s incredible when one of their favorite celebrities or social media icons can speak a second language, aside from their mother language of English. These celebrities sometimes communicate with foreign fans, random people, perhaps on some international talk shows – whoever they want to speak to in said other language. And media loves that: “They’re so incredible!! They’re inspiring!! They’re smart and talented and wonderful!!”

Well, sure.

If anybody can speak another language that’s not the one they grew up with, that’s incredible.

But, social media icons shouldn’t be outrageously praised for it.

What about the story of the hardworking Indian woman? Do you know her story? You’ll never find it on Facebook, or on some BuzzFeed article, or even on your local news at six thirty.

She moves to Canada. In order to make a home for her and her family in Canada, she has to work. In order to work, the first requirement is to speak English.

So she learns English. A language that could not be more diverse and complicated and annoying, honestly. But she learns the necessities in order to work.

She applies for the basic jobs: minimum wage, eager to learn, ready to work. But, who’s going to hire somebody who speaks broken English with not much for job experience?

After months of this, she gets depressed. She can’t support her family, all because of a language barrier. She’s trying to get over that barrier, but nobody wants to help her cross it. Or even make it easier on her to climb over that barrier.

She feels hopeless. She wants a better life for her family, but nothing she does ever seems to be good enough. Her family loves her no matter what. They tell her not to let this stop her, as hard as it is. Because a good run is better than no run at all.

She tries again, applying, researching, practicing.

Finally, somebody gives her a chance. She’s got a job. Minimum wage, store stock person.

It’s not much, but she’s taking it one step at a time. Baby steps, and she’s willing to go the distance.

You see, it’s the unsung heroes like these that I hold near and dear to my heart. Sure, an English speaking celebrity knows another language, and people adore that. Impressive. But a mother, a wife, a woman in this struggling world must learn another language in order to survive.

You are my hero. Thank you for being so damn strong, and I’m sorry some people can’t appreciate all the hard work and effort you put into your everyday life.

Please, keep up the fantastic work.

Forever searching for the diamonds in the rough,