Something isn’t right

I can’t sleep tonight

It’s crawling through my mind

Taking every good thing 

That I can’t find
Run from everyone

In chasing after a captive sun

But when it’s been gone for so long

Is there really any reason 

Or way to dream of being okay
I want to give; I want to set you free

But can’t even live with so little left of me
Is the feeling of silence ever unbearable to you

A loneliness that grows with age 

But you’re supposed to be able to break through

I can’t say why anyone stays

But to try and medicate 

What never goes away 

Do you want to be 

somewhere else

But who can save us from ourselves?
Where has the peace gone

Do you have some

That you could share with me

Or I can make believe

Where have the hours gone

Do you need to waste some

But the question seems to be 

Who can even reach me

What’s it’s gonna be

That’ll finally set you free

Do you want to be

Something else

But who can save us from ourselves?
So write a brand new chapter 

In the past

And for the next time after

hope that it lasts
As all these needles in my skin

Seem an inalleviable affliction

A solitary strand of red I stand

Never to be held again
I want to give; I want to set you free

But can’t even live with so little left of me


5.27 A Word for Chris Cornell

“The heart is like a house with many rooms,” my father used to tell me all growing up. “In anyone else’s home, you wouldn’t go in any room you weren’t first invited into, but would wait patiently for them to be ready to open each door, room by room.”

Throughout my life, this lesson has been more relationally, spiritually, and emotionally relevant than most any other.

For this reason I remember every detail of the moment I first heard Audioslave’s Like A Stone on a Youtube channel. While there are naturally multiple interpretations as to the intended subject of this song, it struck me on a deeply unmet level in more than just a couple ways. While I can’t say that I have been a fan for many years- I immediately found an inexplicable kind of somber connection with all of Cornell’s music and a unique respect for him as a songwriter. Albeit extremely cliche sounding- his suicide has affected me in a way I never thought I could be, much less by someone I don’t even personally know; The definitive reason why evades me, as most reasons do these days. That’s partly why it’s taken me this long to write any word about his death in the midst of my own black days. Yet even still no justice may ever be done with any words to convey the sorrowful feeling of the type of painful tragedy and the resulting realizations of the collective weight of all these dark matters about us.

Not to imply that every suicide isn’t tragic; but perhaps it was the timing, circumstance, and method of his death have caused it to have such a profound impact on me; as I myself often live in a place of considering taking my own life in such fashion. Regardless of the use (or misuse) of Benzodiazapene drugs, I am personally reluctant to believe that in itself would independently bring one to take their own life who were not already a tormented individual beneath it all; and I know that the kind of emptiness, agony, and perpetual fear long preceding such an act is something that cannot be described, and I can only brokenly project what his share of it was.

Beside the innate sadness of this loss; beside the speculation as to what drives one to suicide, and beside the deeply sobering reality of our own swift mortality- is a defeat in the ears of those still walking in similar vice or battle, and a deepened grief for the momentary surrender of all that music exists to fight for- life- despite the countless reasons we each may have to give up. Whether it’s a battle with drug use, depression, anxiety, addiction and self- destruction , or any battle with yourself; music is often one of the only ways many continue to walk through it each day, and Chris Cornell’s influence on the lyrical power of Audioslave, Soundgarden, Temple of the Dog, and his own songs have surely given many others who too  may feel irreparably lost or alone a place to simply be together in dark places, without offering any vain or potentially undermining positivity.

Music is at least half of my life, and the other half I can’t very well find the words to explain; but songs like Shadow On the Sun, Seasons, Fell on Black Days, Show Me How to Live, Be Yourself, and many others have said some of what I’ve long struggled to- with a tangible, timeless kind of grace.

Just in the solidarity alone of knowing firsthand how much more pain goes into every song than the hearer will be able to perceive- somehow causes the world to feel even more empty with his passing. Music and how we touch others in this life are the only things that may ever even approach permanence in this world, and Cornell will forever have his place in both, as a liberating- and now haunting- legacy.

May the “doors locked from within” finally be opened, and may Chris Cornell rest in an eternal peace.


Only For a Day

I came of age in a hall

No doors or windows, only walls

I drove them all away

So not even ghosts come out to play
Pain is an ever present lover

Never in the end with any other

The clock on the wall

With every second 

threatens to end it all
the Emptiness screams so loud

How can you get in or out

But don’t worry

I’m already gone
Can someone save me 

Even for a moment

Something to remember 

For the next time I’m insane
I just need to know

That there is a place to hope

Somewhere I can carry to rest my weary bones

The temple is nowhere

Nowhere that I know

Will you hide me away

Even if it’s only 

For a day
the Emptiness screams so loud

How can I get in or out

But don’t worry

I’ve already gone insane
Can someone save me 

Even for a moment

Something to remind me

For the last time I am lost.

5.21 free write- Reasons

My body is broken and old before it’s time

All my faith has today run dry

I once was a child

But now I’m just alone

And no one knows the reasons I hold
Been so many places

Tried so many times

Remember a thousand faces

All I’ve left behind

I’ve always come and gone

But I don’t know if this one

I can come back from
The impossible’s before me

And my hope is gone

The fire’s at my back

And I’m about to jump

God please catch me

And forgive me what I’ve done

But no one beside me can feel these reasons
Every day it’s a little more weight

And my bones already crumble and break

I cant feel anything but pain

And I don’t believe they understand

I don’t believe you’ve seen what I have
Been so many places

Tried so many times

Remember a thousand faces

All I’ve left behind

I’ve always come and gone

But don’t know if this one 

I will come back from
The impossible’s before me

And my hope is gone

The fire’s at my back

And I’m about to jump

God please catch me

And forgive me what I’ve done

But no one beside me can feel these Reasons.

5.20 free write

It’s on my mind and in my mind from the first thought when I awaken to the last moment before the sedatives kick in to draw me to a fitful sleep. Most of the time the gnawing is there too, as some dark entity bent on not my destruction- as it very well knows I crave- but my torment. They say I should not be overtaken by this constant suffocation, and I am not by the account of mechanical compliance and routine. Company in this midst is a futile endeavor.  But I still hear it and feel it every second in between. Nothing can drown out the screaming fact in my head that it’s been another few years since I set out on another vain quest to find a new bandaid for my gunshot wound, or something to serve as a replacement for coping mechanisms cruelly rendered useless by the penetrating eyes of time. By which every safe place, every drug, and every blood sacrifice expires in its use and I stand where I started years ago, but with extra burdens that all add up in a manner I cannot- nor care to articulate to anyone at all. 

Everyone says there’s no such thing as a problem without answers- even if the answer lies in the serenity of acceptance and a kind of denial. Yet for a struggle I’ve heard not another having dealt with, I have tried and done to such extreme lengths what no other I have ever heard has done. But it fails and fails again, and laden in so much shame I could never tell anyone the true depths to which this problem lies as a slow death sentence to me only metaphorically and spiritually, for I was not granted the favor of death- though against all odds, few can explain how I still stand having foolishly put myself through such rigorous abuse in my pursuit of relief for solely the present day. I have become what I never could have imagined, compromised in the ways I thought was only of the weakest, most ignoble souls, and have accumulated the ever increasing debt of my decisions I thought were best at the time.

They say I am had by a devil, but I don’t know how much it really concerns me in the given circumstances. I neither believe the lies of shadows that death is the end of this suffering; even I know better. That would be far too easy. Angels and demons, but I know only one and of which is no light felt. Thousands of swift years and they’ve all plenty knowledge of feeling trapped as well- this we share in common perhaps. For it most often has appeared that the laws of nature have bent themselves to oppose against all reason. 

Thusly, In the time between reconciling all of these; I leave my marks, never in knowledge of if I will return.


We all have that 

Someone somewhere something

We always seem to be chasing around

Even if only in our heads

It’s so hard to forget about

Where you felt you belonged

Where you thought you were wanted

Or had found something you did

I’m wasting my moments

Stuck in the past

Paying and replaying

What never lasts

All I want in this life is to just be still and know

That there is a way, that there is still hope
I once thought I knew what was right or meant to be

That I had a place to feel, be free; at least taste happy

But it’s all so deceptive

a matter of perspective

How do they manage

To feign care for what’s subjective

How does one keep at playing the game

When it’s fruitless, fucking useless, and all decaying

You were right- it’s like chasing a ghost

Who can never be but a memory

And I it’s longing host
Everytime I think I may have found an answer

Anything to try and cure this kind of cancer

It’s cost is too high in consequence 

And I’m left with another thorn in the end

When all I wanted

To feel something new, to change my hand

But I’ve gone and fucked up again, and bad

And ended up losing 

Everything I thought I had

But by the time I open my eyes

I’ve destroyed my life

And dismantled my chances
I’m not trying to be arrogant

But don’t think they understand

Or that anyone really can

Anyone but themself

I don’t think you really know me that well

But I can’t find the words to explain

When in this hurt there’s nothing I can say 

Because the problem has just become too old

And all that I’ve done- was all mechanical. 

38- The Lesser Darkness

For a moment I was unsure of what I was even looking at, but soon realized that I beheld wings on this child’s back. At first glance it appeared as a smooth, felt black mass, tucked down flush along her back and down past, as though neither water nor air could pass between any of the feathers- each perfectly flush with the others. Slowly, as though requiring a greatly painful effort, the wings separated from her back with a seemingly involuntary trembling, twitching motion. She reached back, and with one wing in each hand, lifted them up to an unexpectedly larger wingspan, perhaps nearly four cubits across. The wings appeared nearly dead of their own accord to raise themselves. 

The inner feathers slightly lightened in color, dark grey edged with silver. Unlike the exterior, the inner portions of her wings were much more disheveled and damaged; how one would imagine the shredded wings of an avian that had lost the battle with a much larger prey. 

I couldn’t help but instinctively reach out and touch what had long been only a thing of fairytale and folklore. I’d heard a great many fantastical tales and seen many things, but never had I believed in- much less seen- a winged being that was neither bird nor angel, though the wings resembled an uncanny mix of both. I found myself mindlessly running my hand over the soft, varying textures, almost mesmerized by how surreal it seemed.                                                    I realized I ought not to make her feel uncomfortable, and as I went to right my composure, saw what made my heart sink in my chest.