forget about tomorrow

what if every single thing i want so bad never comes true…

what if i have no control over it at all?

what if i never had a choice at all and its all just a game my mind plays over and over again in a body that unconsciously makes the ultimate decision.

the question is, did any of it ever matter?

can my purpose really just be to experience emotions…

its like this broken down roller coaster i never chose to get on and now i can’t decide if i even want to get off

sure i might not make it, but then there’s no decision at all.

am i really so weak that i just want the easy way out? would i really rather give up than have to choose?

im so used to living for today i forget about tomorrow,

because tomorrow will always seem too good to be true.

-A.K.A. The Author

Many Houses


You spend your nights in the company of melancholy

playing the music just loud enough to convince your thoughts

to not drift too far away,

drifting your fingers through the flames of a burning candle

just to make sure you can feel anything at all.

You tell yourself you’re happy and not something else,

but happiness isn’t a constant state of being.

It’s an emotion, that comes and goes as fast as

the gas in the car you drive for miles and miles

searching for somewhere, for something, that

makes you feel like you belong.

But home is not always a house, sometimes home

is many houses.

And sometimes home is the many people inside

the houses, or one person and no house at all.

Or maybe it’s just you.

//The Mountains Don’t Make Me Smile Anymore//

It rained today.

It came pouring down, hard against the roof of the car as I drove.

I turned off the radio so I could hear it pound as loud as I wanted to cry.

I ached for the tears to run down my face,

but there I sat, out of the storm, in the confinements of the drivers seat.

Watching, experiencing the emotion through a glass windshield.

I used to smile when I saw the mountains, because they reminded me of you,

just like the rain.

But today when I turned down my street and saw them there,

my heart sank.

It was just another rainstorm on another Sunday on another road in suburbia, USA

yet to me it was just another sign that the rest of the world will never stop even when I fall,

Even when it makes no sense for life to carry on at all.

So for now, I’ll drag myself along on scraped hands and knees until I can stand on my own two feet,

Taking the bad days and the good days one by one farther down this street.


If I Let You Define Me

If people asked you about me

This is what you’d say: 

Her lips could make me smile 

Even though she never would. 

She was too much work,

Without all the right benefits. 

Pretty in bed,

But not in tears. 

When it came to love

Her heart unfailingly subdued her brain. 

She was smart enough to leave, 

but naive enough to stay. 

She knew I didn’t love her, 

But she tried to convince herself I did.

So she let me tell her it was okay 

Even when it wasn’t. 

A stupid girl that gave me what I wanted 

For  deception in return. 

Then she started to say no. 

The more I kissed her,

The more she pushed me away. 

The moment she was good enough for herself,

She wasn’t for me. 


​I can’t stay here anymore. Not in this room, this house, or this town. 

I already have a plan, I’ll just tell my family I’m too sick to go on the trip. 

That, yes, I’ll be fine alone for the weekend. 

And once they leave I’ll grab the spare set of keys. Remember to turn off the lights and forget who I am. 

I’ll drive until I find a city I’ve never been to, where I can introduce myself as Aspen.

The girl who isn’t dying. The girl who has a future, and can make her dad proud because it doesn’t hurt to play basketball. The girl who planned her wedding, not funeral. 

And the stranger will smile at me. Actually smile out of happiness, not pity because they can see the pain in my eyes.  

And maybe I’ll make a friend who doesn’t know anything about me except for my favorite color and dream job. They’ll ask where I’m from, and what I like to do.

They won’t ask how I’m doing or what the doctors said. There wouldn’t be any, “Do you need help’s?” Or “I’m sorry’s”. 

I want to meet someone who doesn’t know my story. Who doesn’t know why I act too mature or speak in stanzas. 

And then, when it’s all over, I wouldn’t be able to lie. So I’d tell them the truth. 

And they wouldn’t say anything, but they don’t have to. I already saw my world crash in their eyes.

Our Own Frequency 

I’m drowning in your alphabet, and suffocating on my own words. 

We both speak the same language, but English doesn’t make sense when it’s you saying it . 

You don’t hear me no matter how loud I yell. No matter how close we are. 

We scream and scream until our voices become their own frequency of incomprehensible static. 

 So now I’m quiet. I convey my emotions though glares and grimaces. 

I don’t have to ignore you because we now we never speak. If I hide behind my hair, you will always keep walking. 

The less eye contact the better. The less sad smiles the better. The more I forget you exist around me so constantly, the better.