i'm sorry you found it
it's not too late to turn back
|
welcome--this is a personal site as i learn code. i kinda know what i'm doing and i can't promise everything will work, but i can promise that i'm a human (well...at least not a robot) behind these thoughts. most of the things here are borrowed and diy'd (like this theme)- i try my best to give credit where it is due, but again, i'm likely of making mistakes. i'm trying to learn that i don't have to present everything perfectly for it to be important.
i often embrace the side of life that many avoid or dislike, and therefore, so does this site.
oh, and watch out for the splinters >:-)
thank you to our sponsors:
the following pages range in topics from short and light relfections to heavy and complex experiences. content may contain sensitive material, including but not limited to graphic depictions of: death, self-harm, blood, sex, abuse (/csa), addiction, family violence.
not really intended for an audience.
please remember: a parasite does not choose to be a parasite
index:
music: playlists i've created, albums i like
zines: self explanatory i think
poems: this one too
cats: self explanatory if it was underestimated
quizzes: silly results from silly quizzes
journal: random short daily entries
collages: mostly digital ones here
games: one day there will be a game to play
birds: i like to draw birds. these are the alive ones :)
cemetery: currently closed for visitors.
art: drawings, paintings, graphics, maybe more
essays: my thoughts on things
short-form: not long stories
map: under construction
playlist: the worms
playlist: to be determined
album: i am haunting your house - mindful wrath
click here to support the artist
album: look what you made me do - ashaine white
click here to support the artist
playlist: into the spiral
There’s a monster on the loose,
the alarm bells sound.
When it’s time, close your blinds.
Lock your doors.
Turn off your lights.
There’s a monster on the loose,
you might be next.
Her vicious claws, sharp teeth.
Go to bed.
Try to sleep.
There’s a monster on the loose,
she’ll hiss your name.
Yell out for her child.
It’s not you.
Run. Hide.
There’s a monster on the loose,
looking for lost kin.
She’ll hunt through the night,
dragging you,
headwind.
I remember when you were green,
full of nests and dancing leaves.
the birds sang me lullabies,
while I lay awake,
alone,
counting the hours I couldn’t sleep.
your resilience, now familiar,
watching you change—
my aching chest.
your leaves shed color,
like blood from my face,
poisoned by nausea,
season after season,
I long for rest.
in your shadow,
my darkest fears come to light.
captive and constrained,
choking my cries,
your solace makes me feel alive.
seen and heard,
less alone,
I survive.
while I fade in synchrony,
your leaves are lessons in letting go.
your decay, a story of surrender,
as our roots intertwine,
rot and tire,
slow.
still, I hope to see you green again,
and that maybe, one day,
you’ll see color in me too.
for the silent strength you offer,
my companion,
every fall,
we make it through.
a regretted childbirth
to a festering grudge
a test of morality
in blistering sun
a microscope of truth
baked in crude
a glistening mirror
of false coherers
a sister grieved
of one never born
a brother lost
in a violent storm
a set of parents to blame
i forgive you
for pulling my teeth
stapling my arms
turning me blue
i know it was them
i know it was never meant to be you
I stepped out of the cold water—my skin now cleansed and red.
I fell asleep in the tub, drowned in devotion.
I stayed in too long. The damage is done.
For what’s another night, soaked and spun?
The room now familiar—a chilling embrace.
My only companion, desperate straits.
My skin finally smooth. I’ve picked it clean.
It’s plagued my mind. Devilish and Diseased.
At least on the bright side, I’ll finally get some sleep.
For my eyes only rest, after my body empties and bleeds.
my Brother’s Funeral was on Tuesday and i’ve been pacing back and forth ever since.
my mind has gone Numb and the lines have been blurred
between Today and Yesterday.
i blink and it’s Thursday; somehow i’m still in bed.
i try to get up but my roots have rotted;
covered in moss
i decide to sleep in.
on Wednesday I feel Sick.
Death,
illness and nature,
all a force to not be denied.
they drop by your door and steal your sleep each night.
Tomorrow’s Sun burns brighter than most
I’ll soak up the sting in my stitched-up wounds.
Friday’s here but I’m unsure of the day;
the smell of Death still lingers.
Saturday rises
Sunday sets
Monday’s Moon is full
If Death blurs each line--
do we remember what’s been left behind?
do we remember Your name?
Do we remember your grave?
do we Remember to cry?
Growing up, there was a maple tree in the front yard.
Every day, after school, in rain and sun,
I’d scrape and bruise my knees climbing up,
building calluses on my hands from the unforgiving bark
as I daydreamed of running away.
I’d climb until I’d taste sweat
until blood dripped down my shin.
I’d climb until I was scared the branch holding me would give.
I’d climb until the cat that joined me nodded it was enough.
I’d find a spot, a place that fit me like a glove.
I’d write music without any instruments.
I’d tell stories without any characters.
I’d find a family and what it means to be alone.
Now, as an adult, I spend my life looking for another tree.
One not too big to climb.
For the familiar bark that bruised.
For the same sap that stuck.
I spend my life chasing the fear,
of leaning back too far,
of grabbing the wrong branch,
of falling out of the tree.
I miss the taste of love on my lips,
when I put myself first.
The bark that bites my skin doesn’t burn the same.
The fear of leaning back now replaced by desire.
I hear that their roots talk underground.
I wonder if the trees that hear my cries
have heard the stories,
of the kid trapped in the trees,
constricted and self-made,
longing and desperate to escape.
I wonder if they see it in me now,
in the new stories I share
of the kid trapped in the trees,
constricted and self-made,
longing and desperate to escape.
If a plane crashes with no sole survivors,
except a lone shadow waving through the night,
does that count as a win?
If the shadow stumbles off a cliff,
into nothing but a crater full of the abyss,
does that lesson turn into a gift?
If it climbs out days later,
bones weakened and withered blue,
does the fall break through?
If the shadow moves on,
recovered, naive, brave,
does that make it prey?
If the shadow finds joy,
in the depths of the darkest parts of the forest,
does that make the plane crash loop?
If the shadow doesn’t see,
the hole that's beneath, and falls straight in,
does that make it The Fool?
If the shadow can’t get out,
and no one can save you but yourself,
does all hope fade?
If the shadow gives up,
and lays down to rest, bare down its arms,
does the time add up?
If the shadow makes it out,
once again, resilient and tall,
does the threat go away?
If the shadow stumbles,
down a dried and decayed wishing well,
does anything still exist?
If the shadow waits,
for a decommissioned train,
does survival still have needs?
If the voices grow louder,
and the faces in the wall smile back,
tell me,
does that mean it’s time to quit?
Can you imagine being a fly?
A pesky kitchen gnat?
To fly, to be free, to be feared.
Can you imagine getting caught in your trap?
Your life reduced to a sticky pad,
an electrocuting bat,
a force to end you, to wipe you off the map?
Every time I blink, every time I open my eyes,
I see it.
The ritual.
The humiliation.
The torture.
The degradation.
The shame.
The fear.
The damage.
The wounds.
The blood.
The bodies bleeding.
The bleeding bodies burying bloody bodies.
The scarcity and control.
The greed and power.
I wonder, why them, not me?
I watch the scene,
where they get covered in slime,
where they are demolished and deconstructed.
where they are missing their legs,
where they are framed as criminals,
by the criminals causing corruption.
Where I wait, still,
for a myth that was never mine,
for a death that will never arrive.
Can you imagine a storm?
One so violent you feel it in your bones,
where it breaks them in two,
shattering everything you once knew to be true?
It happens more than you think.
Tell me, do you feel comfortable in your body?
What would you change?
Tell me, do you feel comfortable with your thoughts?
What would you change?
Tell me, do you feel comfortable in your home?
How much does it cost?
Like rush hour traffic on a busy highway,
Like a blood clot in a human leg,
Like a can exploding,
A meteor erupting,
A bomb dropping,
A lightning strike,
A plane crashing,
A story never told,
Your life,
Can you imagine,
It being,
Someone else’s to hold?
Missing you is waiting for the knock at my door,
kneeling for The Devil, and begging death to come.
It’s a cruel joke.
They promised it would come.
It’s the one certain, the one constant, the one guarantee.
Still, it never arrives.
It torments,
Teases,
Taunts.
It touches those you love.
Those who love you.
Those who don’t deserve it.
Those who are begging us to save them from it.
Still, I’m hungry.
I want it.
I leave my door unlocked.
I carve prayers in my chest.
I search for you, high and low.
I search for you, day and night.
I search for you, under my sheets.
In my hair, between my teeth.
I search for you in places I shouldn’t.
In people I should leave alone.
Still, I know you will arrive.
You’ve done it every time.
I’ve seen it among the news,
The trees, the lovers, the towers.
I’ve seen it in the fields.
In my house. Down the street.
Under the moons.
Under the graves.
Like a nail in a board.
Like a splinter under skin.
Like the wind in a storm.
Missing you is waiting for the nightmares to end,
Screaming a plea as I close my eyes,
That tonight,
The torture will finally be yours.
been so busy with my new catdog lately <3 it bites and is kind of an asshole but nothing i can't handle
i wish talking was more liberating, like singing. i wish singing was more conventional, like talking
its strange to be september. like its strange to be twenty-eight
Pangramathon.com: 9/2/2026 1. 5 sec, 2. 32 sec, 3. 1 min, 28 sec, total = 2 min, 5 sec
the weight of human-made disasters is calamitous and inconsolable: landslides and flooding in nepal, tibet; fires in algeria, canada, oregon; power outages in gary, memphis, puerto rico, cuba;
carceral systems across prisons, healthcare, and education; genocides in palestine, sudan, myanmar; government abandonment after hurricanes, katrina - helene; ice's kidnapping and killing of people; the expanding surveillance state; the hangings of Black people in america.
a reminder that humans, and all nonhumans, are not naturally the cause of great pain. where do we put our time, money, love? is this the environment we need and deserve? does it support the earth?
been shit at taking my meds so naturally i had a shit dream and shitty day of picking...clipping. i should throw them away. and vaccuum.
<3 played jackbox with friends; big beefy gurl was the star of the show as always
zed said he was going to show me dead ant smell in the spring xD
♪(‘εﾟ人ﾟ)*.+ finally figured out webdeck (spell-check ur paths :p)
samlevi and i watched the meteor shower all night and it was beautiful ☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆
finn, frankie, and i finished reading 'staircase in the woods' -- books are always better with friends. it was not bad. nin references and silent hill-ish vibes ꉂ ( ᵔ̴̶̤᷄ꇴ ॣᵔ̴̶̤᷅⌯))л̵ʱªʱª⁎*.
thinking about my brother tonight and how he would've liked this storm ↜ʚɞ↝
yet
yet
I know you weren’t expecting me here today. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to come. I thought my days of having a father, of having to speak to you, were far behind me. When I first heard the news, it was like I saw color again. I always knew this day would come, and, for a long time, I have been waiting, silently, to breathe again. Today, I come to speak the truth, to lay to rest the part of me that has been buried beneath your weight and make room for new roots to grow.
I’m not sure of the last time you saw me, but I’ll never forget the last time I saw you. September 2nd, 2019. 7:00 PM. We lived in the same town, but you wouldn't know that. Our silence had stretched for years, greater than your release from prison and wider than the dismissed childhood fears. I worked as a server at a local pizzeria, an old favorite of yours. My back was turned when I heard a familiar voice. I didn't have to see you to know. The voices of you and your wife—calmer than the years I heard them screaming—still sent goosebumps down my spine. I, however, appeared to be nothing.
You sat in the same middle booth. You ordered the same Diet Coke. You twirled the same straw in the same circles before your same first sip. You covered your same pizza with the same mozzarella. You repeated the same patterns in the same booth, decades apart. I watched as the two of you ate your meal, occasionally catching eye contact. With each glance, I wondered if the same recognition flickered in your mind—if you realized why the fear in my eyes and the hunger in yours felt so familiar. As soon as you came, you left, planting us face-to-face. Your eyes empty, as if I were a stranger, as if another one of your children was already dead.
I didn’t think I had changed that much, but after years of being alone, someone else's shell never sticks. I should’ve known you would never recognize self-love. My hair dyed brighter and cut shorter than you ever allowed. My body decorated in more piercings and tattoos than you ever found attractive. It was easy to change in the presence of freedom. As easy as it was for you to kill your own child.
Today, I allow myself to breathe air into the child you tried to suffocate. As I celebrate, I leave behind your breathless body. Do you remember my birthday? The bruises you gave? Do you remember the way I would squirm under your hand? Or the way you used to look at me? Do you remember those nights? Do you remember that day?
In preparation for your funeral, I dug into my skin in hopes of finding our earliest memories together but my younger self buried them deeper than bone—somehow it felt as if it went according to your plan. I dug into the hand of cards you dealt me searching for the Ace of Spades. Instead, I found California, waiting on the sidewalk outside dispensaries and bars. I found Las Vegas, sneaking through casinos and strip clubs. I found the beach, being held under until my eyes and mouth were filled with sand. I found New York, the Hoover Dam, and the top of the Sears Tower in Chicago. I found a lot of trips. I found a lot of excuses, fuel for your addictions. I found my innocence traded for your inebriations.
I dug deeper until I found your parents' house, unwillingly as always—from hostage to holiday, you always drug me back. I begged to go home. I was reminded that this was home. I begged to go home. I was reminded why to never ask twice. At grandma's and grandpa's house, the rules were simple:
I learned quickly that if you tend to the garden, it keeps the unwanted visitors away. Did he teach you that too?
Still searching for the first memory, I found more than I hoped for. I remembered rituals of ours, Friday night movies at the theater and Saturday stealing sprees at the mall. On Fridays, I learned to remember every handful of pills pulled from your bag forced to swallow down before going in. Every bitter beverage handed over and ordered to drink. Every memorized step to sneak a child into R-rated films. Every hand laid heavy on my thigh, squeezing through the most horrifying scenes. Every lingering finger, lingering further than it should. Every rush to the bathroom to get ahead of the vomit caused by you. On Saturdays, I learned to remember to keep my distance from you, always following at least one arm away. It’s how to avoid being pushed into people passing by, kiosks on display, and down the escalator ride.
I dug deeper in desperate measure, with a desire to find something less dark. Instead, I found the trip you gifted me for my 14th birthday. Like a movie, the drive to the mountains was ominous. The stop at the first moonshine shop past the border. The flags of fear flown from the foot of every yard. Moments of silence as an announcement of no phone service. The arrival to the hotel, the one with the pool and hot tub, 3 drinks already in.
Another jar down in the room leads to slurred steps into the pool, more myself than you this time. I remember the way your touch followed me back to the room. Posing me on the bed for photos together. Do you still have those pictures? Do you still touch yourself to them?
I found diary entries trying to solve the equation of your sober love. I found myself questioning the existence of love. I remembered each party. On Christmas, New Year's, birthdays, Saturdays, Thursdays, Tuesdays. I remembered more pills, unknown substances, nights I couldn’t remember my name, days you couldn’t remember mine. I found fear for your hands before I found love for myself. Did he hit you like this too?
I think back to my time with my brother often. How he should be here today and how you attended your own funeral before you attended his. He should get to see the ghost that’s been made out of you. I wrote a eulogy for him too, except with his, I mourned over the regret he shared in his last moments. Do you remember what happened? Do you remember what you did? You always said there were ghosts in the house. In the same way that life has no value to you, when you view the living as ghosts, it’s easy to witness them pass.
I might not find everything, but I found enough. Enough to build something new. Along with you, I’ve buried your addictions—sex, violence, alcohol, drugs, sex, porn, gambling, sex. I bury the videos you used to show me. The lessons on how to drive under the influence and steal what I wanted. I bury our family time and how you taught me that drugs and sex always come before people, but especially your children. I leave behind your racist comments. Your sexist comments. Your homophobic comments. Your perverted comments. Your violence. Your anger. Your voice. Your hand. I leave behind the shattered glass of broken plates, the holes in the walls, the doors torn off their hinges, the cops at the front door, the secrets you forced me to keep. I bury the way you treated my siblings, making us forget who we were, making ghosts out of the living.
Despite the nostalgia wrapped in pain, I look at you and find relief. A eulogy for my father was all I ever needed. I don’t need to remember you anymore. You no longer have hands to lay on my thighs, no eyes to gaze me over. I no longer have to protect myself from you. Just as you forgot about me, it is your turn to be forgotten. As your body returns to the land and your blood returns to the sky,I will sing songs of celebration I never knew existed. I stand here today without a father, just like I always have. You’ll lie here forever without children, just like you always have.
