UPDATES!

Hello!

So, I'm sure some of you are wondering where my Spectra series has gotten to.
Whelp, lemme tell you, it is under some SERIOUS reconstruction.
But, have no fear, it is still not completely off of the table. I love the premise, and I have worked out a well-functioning storyline. I just really need to hash out some character development and add/subtract characters where I deem necessary. It's all quite complicated at the moment, so to break it up, I've decided to start writing something totally off-the-wall different.

I'm taking on the role of John Green, y'all.
...Or something like him.

I'll be putting out some short installments of a new book? novella? series? that I have chosen to call Io for now. (Yes, as in the Galilean moon of Jupiter).

I'll be posting the prologue immediately following this update. I have no idea how often I'm going to be writing these installments, so bear with me!

Fair winds!

Ground Has Found You

Young blood in your skin

Plucked so early from your mother’s limbs

Drowsy from that morning’s sin

Pushed off the edge of a branch too thin

And it’s all falling down around you

And it’s all a blur ‘til the ground has found you

Baby bird has failed his mama

And he falls down, down.

Wash Out Your Mouth

Cantankerous, dream-walking

Sly, moth-mouthed, sleep-talking

You’re still in the picture: too still.

You cross my mind in meter

Lye-sucking, soapy cheater

Inching your way across the chill.

Arsenic pearls, around her cold neck

Sweeping fingertips, making me feel sick

The weather is fairing fine for foaming deluge.

Cyanide diamond rings

Dripping between her teeth

Head buried deep in the lap of Luxury.

The Sender Is Not Dead!

A typical morning you’ll find me in bed

Wrapped up with monsters that stalk through my head

Don’t worry, they’re friendly, they talk in my sleep

They do the crying while I do the creep

They don’t ever question if I’m okay

That’s alright; I don’t have much to say

Empty promises can’t hurt me anyway

At least that’s what I’ve told myself to say

Something in the dark window

My face; the monster rattles the glass in my bones

My heart, its' beats, the call of the beast

There’s something inside of me wanting release

Your words bouncing off empty walls, your tongue playing dead,

I’m sick of the illness, the truth running red-

There is a sickly-sweet silence that washes our bed

I’m drowning out arrogance; the demons you’ve bred

Careful not to lose my head

I’ve been this close comatose, the cancer’s been fed-

I’ve been tripping on the mend

Return to sender, this is not what I meant!

I'd rather be dead!

I'd rather be dead!

Abattoir Memoirs

She picked you from the crop

Culled you with her scythe

Popped you from the bud

With her hunting knife

You gave her all control -

Made you bleed in the sand

Under the summer sun

And her chain of command

Just how long did it take you to fall

From the tree you grew so tall?

You found her lies at the root of cause

Coiled, the snake with open jaws.

How many times did it take for you to cave?

When the crows were lying in wait for mistakes.

Any hair, any line, any moan out of place,

Could send them in a boiling rage.

Which one told you to cave?

Ambling toward the abattoir

You’ve grown complacent

To her witchery, her charms

You struggle to place it

But she has you ensnared

A bull in a yolk

And with those dirty hands

I promise you’ll choke

Just how long did it take for you to see

How her sultry eyes have sewn the seeds of treachery?

If you foundher dead- bullet in the head,

You'd reminisce the times you bled.

All for her.

Unfuck her.

Remove her stain.

She’s on my mind, inside my brain

I’m going insane

I feel insane

There’s nothing that can soothe the pain.

Remove her stain

Remove her stain from inside my brain.

I’m going fucking insane.

Solace in Sleep

When you ask me why I've been in my room all day, it's not because I hate you.
It's not because I'm angsty, hormonal, or unwilling.
It's not because you did anything wrong. I'm not hurt. I'm not afraid.
It's not because my boyfriend broke up with me, so don't even bother asking. You'd know.
It's not because I don't care anymore. I just don't care at this moment.

I'll care tomorrow.

It's not because I'm avoiding you.
It's not because you want me to accompany you to partnered yoga when you know I'm more of a pilates girl.
No, it's not. So don't worry, okay?

I've been in my room all day because whatever deity that floats up in the sky wanted me to be.
Today, they looked at me and thought, "She's going to sleep."
And thus; I sleep. It's my destiny, if you want to call it that.
When you ask me why I haven't brushed my hair or updated my blog in a couple weeks, I'll be more than happy to transfer your call to the big operator in the sky.

Because to be frank, I have no fucking clue

However, after months and months of praying and sacrificial rituals, I think I've got the Gods to give me some insider info.
I'll let you in on a little secret.

Why I choose my room instead of your company

It's because the color I painted my walls makes me feel safe.
It's because the blankets smell familiar and the carpet makes a perfect place for a nap when my bed needs rest.
It's because I'm tired of facing the world as I am now.
It's a place of transformation. A human chrysalis.
I go to sleep me and I wake up me.

Just me of a different breed.

Think of it as an update. Or a software patch.

It's all I can do to keep from falling

Back into bad habits
Because know that I find solace and redemption in sleep.
It's because no place in this world is my own except here. It is my mark.
It is my latitude. It is my longitude.
It is my place under the great ceiling of the spherical universe, if you follow Eudoxus and Aristotle.
I reside underneath the star painted next to Betelgeuse.
Give it some time and I'll be someplace under Canis Major.

Asleep.

And it's cool with me if you want to make a supernova type II out of a supernova type I.
I'm not going to stop you.
I'll be sleeping. Ignorant. You won't have to worry about how I'm feeling.

I won't be feeling anything.

And I'm cool with that.

An Excerpt of a Quote From a Character of a Book I'm Writing

"To whom this concerns:

There's nothing more disappointing than fake progress.

Honestly, if I could find one thing more disheartening, maybe life wouldn't look so bleak from down here...

But, here I am. Bleaker than ever.

It's when you only think you've made your recovery, when in reality, you're no different than you were yesterday. Or the day before. Or the week before.

When you're finally smelling the roses again after days of mending the tip of your nose after that one time a bee stung you when you stuck your face in the daffodils for a good whiff, and you muster the courage to inhale from afar... only to find out the swelling from your previous injury has permanently damaged communications to the olfactory bulb in your brain because you have some suffer from some terrible evolutionary misstep that causes permanent congestion when exposed to the apitoxin in bee venom.

And I know what you're thinking: "It can't be all bad, right?". 

Well no, it's not all bad. But it's enough bad to make the good feel... well... less good.

Everything is lack luster.                                                                                                 Hazey.

Bleak. 

Small.

And I don't know when, or how, or if I'll feel better soon.

But thank you for your concern."