"I'm the hero of the story don't need to be saved"

I create.
I thoroughly enjoy sounds and instruments.
Things inspire me.
I think, feel, then grab a pen.

That New York/Texas segment from the Daily Show the other day was 




“Yes, my consuming desire is to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, barroom regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording—all this is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always supposedly in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yes, God, I want to talk to everybody as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.”

Sylvia Plath | The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath 

death is funny


death is funny 

death is quick 

instantaneous, a millisecond, without warning

death is slow

slow, slow, painfully slow 

in both ways

life is gone 

no one is immune

even you

energetic, lively, expressive 

so strong and alive 

you are not immune 

and to think of what death took 

and where you are now 

you are not alive 

you are nothing 

you are dead 

you are decaying

you are no longer mine 

you are gone

*sobbing violently* 

I hate and envy Chris with every atom of my being 

“Dying is an art.
Like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.”

Sylvia Plath 


I inched my fingers closer to his.

Close, but not touching. 

I didn’t have to. His warmth radiated. 

"Your hands are really warm."

He smiled. He had been told this before.

"My body heat is naturally a bit high." 

I chuckled. 

"And my hands just happen to always be cold." 

It was ironic. Even our body temperatures decided to take opposites. 

"They are cold."

He placed his hands in mine and squeezed slightly. 

"But if I hold onto your hands long enough, they’ll be warm." 

I brought my face closer to his.



How to describe Florence and her music? 

Powerful. Unique. Distinct. Melodic. Beautiful.