Death is just…

Burnt at both ends

Death the beautiful and terrible fact of life. 
To dream and live one’s death is but a thought we cannot think. 
To live one’s dream of death is unspeakable. 
Sinful, shameful, selfish. 
We shall not. 
Because to die is the greatest finale of them of them all 
To die is an ending we wish never happened. 
To die is the curtains closing. 
For the closure regardless of what we get is never enough 
For the words left unspoken and answers unknown
Death is six feet under 
Death is we speak no more
Death is blowing in the wind and history
Death is unknown 
After the life we live, we speak, we are nothing.

Empty hollow bones eroding inside the pine box, the mass graves of one human remains but multiple organisms we cannot see. 

I am not afraid of death anymore.
And that could be the scariest thing to someone who doesn’t understand.
I am afraid of what is next. The unknown. The stories are for nothing more than to put images in my head as if I were 4 years old again believing in Santa Claus. Fictional character and we grow up and it’s just our parents. But when we die what happens. The rainbow, the clouds, the man, the family and friends before us, the pets, the trees, the five people you meet in heaven? What does it all mean? What is it?

One of the things to make me think more about death I heard was in Midnight Mass. Spoiler alert do not continue reading if you do not want to know.

*When I die… my body stops functioning. Shut down. All at once, or gradually, my breathing stops, my heart stops beating. Clinical death. And a bit later, like, five whole minutes later… my brain cells start dying. But in the meantime, in between… maybe my brain releases a flood of DMT. It’s the psychedelic drug released when we dream, so… I dream. I dream bigger than I have ever dreamed before, because it’s all of it. Just the last dump of DMT all at once. And my neurons are firing and I’m seeing this firework display of memories and imagination. And I am just… tripping. I mean, really tripping balls because my mind’s rifling through the memories. You know, long and short-term, and the dreams mix with the memories, and… it’s a curtain call. The dream to end all dreams. One last great dream as my mind empties the fuckin’ missile silos and then… I stop. My brain activity ceases and there is nothing left of me. No pain. No memory, no awareness that I ever was, no… that I ever hurt someone. That I ever killed someone. Everything is as it was before me. And the electricity disperses from my brain till it’s just dead tissue. Meat. Oblivion. And all of the other little things that make me up, they… the microbes and bacterium and the billion other little things that live on my eyelashes and in my hair and in my mouth and on my skin and in my gut and everywhere else, they just keep on living. And eating. Uh…. And I’m serving a purpose. I’m feeding life. And I’m broken apart, and all the littlest pieces of me are just recycled, and I’m billions of other places. And my atoms are in plants and bugs and animals, and I a like the starts that are in the sky. There one moment and then just scattered across the goddamn cosmos.
Your turn. What happens when you die?*

So here I am and here I sit. Death is just… Death is just something that I am still working on. When you deal with 25 deaths in one year and it surrounds you like a plague you can’t escape, you move forward. You ask questions. You forget. You hate and love and cry and as much as you don’t want to ask Why, the question still comes to mind. Death is just what we make of it. There is no linear healing. No A to Z answers. No definite this is what happens when we die. Death is just for the living because do the dead even know they have died.

Death is just…

Back once more

They sit alone

Twisting of the owls neck 
knowing my heart was trying to tell me something. 
A mangled mess you left me in
So long ago 
Left lying awake a night 
My eyes feel everything
My eyes take everything in 
Eight arms bring me back down 
But these can’t be my own
I can’t break loose 
Tangled mess 
What a tangled web we weave
Knees dig deeper from the powerful blows
Digging to the happiness of 6 feet under
Hands that could break a man’s back but only crack under the pressure of your words
The vibrations in my chest of the words spoken
You wait for my back to be turned
Youll find me Flying in the dead of night
Fragile wings of a bat hold me up.

I’m back once more after taking a break. Rotten poetry club will start up again. Rantings of an empty chaotic mind. All the photos that depict the feelings wheel I’ll share. Where have I been? Lost. Trying to find my way through life and death. Wrap my head around the last year and a half of depression and weight gain. Plan out the words one by one and somehow get back to me. It won’t happen overnight but damnit I’ll try because instant gratification. I am an alcoholic. I have the best answers. I know what’s best. My best thinking got me here.

So wait for it and you’ll see, I’m clearly a mess but make all the sense in the world. Haha. Wait for it. The poem above was one i started from some homework out of a book. Maybe I’ll post some more and what the prompts are. Helps. Can’t hurt. Not perfect. We shall see.

Something always brings me back to the water.


We have a wedding today. Not certain I’m really excited about it today. Not certain of anything right now. Nothing bad. Nothing good. Just another day. I took that picture of the moon last night. I wish we had more things around the house or yard to take pictures of. Right now, it’s the sky and all the stars. It is fairly dark at the new house and I can see a lot of the constellations even if I don’t know them all.

I don’t like all the new updates and changes to this site. Maybe it’s because I’m only on it on my phone and not an actual computer. That might be better but I would only have time on Monday nights at work. Or because greyson just got a newer laptop I can use his old one. Whatever, either way.

Well I supposed its time to get ready this wedding. Wish me luck.

What about it?

Take me back. The feelings flooded in. Anxiety. Medication. I took the medication. I took the same pictures. I thought the same thoughts but this time I knew I wasn’t going to jump. But again how freeing.

I was the ocean, I was the galaxy, I was a girl just lost at sea. I was lost trying to find the real me, not the little girl they say I need to fund within me. ~C

Keep going. There will always be a struggle but what will we do about it? What will I do about it?

Moon, backseats, chapters.

I’ve landed on the moon more than once. I’ve seen the seasons changing. Full moons rising and gravitational pulls.

I’m going to write a book titles faded and backseats. So I say that. This blog is my book. Maybe a poem. Maybe some lines. But faded and backseats are pretty relevant lately.


Keep Writing.

I can see that my blog prompts for August got me really far. One and done has never really been my sort of thing. Always one is never enough, keep going balls to the walls and why the fuck not. That being said a lot has happened. I haven’t gone back and reread any of my old posts lately. I haven’t had really a chance to sit and think for myself. What has been going on is that, well hold that thought. It’s going in one direction but I want to see what my last post says so I dont repeat myself so back to back. Ok, so I didn’t post about death already. At least not the most recent one.

We unpacked the office which lead to a small clean out of stuff. What we don’t need, what we can throw away and what isn’t needed what so ever. The unpacking lead to finding a lot of old journals. Most of them were from drunken stupor, blackouts, depression at its finest and way back when. I glanced at a few, nothing really new, shocking or surprising to me. I debated in my head for awhile whether I should keep them or not. I have been reminded to many times of my past, I’ve been reminded of so many things and I’m trying to let go. I decided it was time to throw them all away. Bagged them up, all the words, lines, memories written. I think about all the things that were in there but really what purpose does it serve me right now, none. So they are gone. What I did keep out of all of it is probably the worst part. That old middle school/high school depression I hate life kind of poetry. As the writing may not actually be that good but back then I was a pro – my feelings honestly haven’t changed much from them. I’ve just learned to keep it all in alittle better these days. I’ve learned to hide it all and just keep plugging away.

This post has sort of gone in a completely different direction than I was planning. That’s cool, I’ll save it for another day.

So my poetry, either you’ve got it or you don’t. You can or can’t. That’s what I used to think. I also kept it because it was something that wasn’t just mindless writing. I was actually focused on it. I had to think. I tried. I won’t say looking at it now that it was good by any means but to be that young and write stuff like that, so sad. I don’t think I really feel sorry for that girl or that I need to wrap arms around her and give her a hug for healing. I just feel like I’m in the same place sometimes mentally.

Full of poetry. Full of stories. Feelings. Life. Emotions. And honestly I don’t really even know if any of it is happy. Some I’m sure are but really wasn’t much to be happy about then. From 8th grade to probably college or later is in those four notebooks, folder and binder. Feelings I can’t always say out loud and something that I don’t know how to handle all the time.

It’s a new day right now then when I started writing everything above this. I don’t have much to say, I don’t have much more I can say on this right now but I keep writing about writing. I keep talking about it and the emotions that come with it. I keep going in circles so I will leave you with an old school poem. I will leave you with this and I will leave you with don’t ever stop writing. Take breaks. Listen. Find what you are looking for but don’t stop writing. Good and bad it may just come to you at random times. Keep it, throw it away it doesn’t matter. Keep writing.

When you can’t unhear the sounds that have brought you to your knees. 

When you can’t unhear the voices that linger in the dark 

When you can’t unhear the uneasy rustling of the leaves on a late October day in back corner of an alley way while you are tangled in someone’s arms you do not want to be in. 

When you can’t unhear the motorcycles passing by 

When you can’t unhear the ticking of a clock while waiting to see the one person you used to trust never to leave you and is now gone. 

When you can’t unhear the silence.



Day off together!

Today is the first day greyson and I have had a day off together in I don’t know how long. My schedule has changed and we finally now have two days off together from here on out which means…..the house will officially be put together by tonight and we are also having a date night today. I’m so grateful that this change has happened. He has an appointment this morning and then dunkin and off to the races! I can’t wait.

Another question, when does pumpkin spice come out at dunkin because I am ready! Like yesterday even though in these neck of the woods we have had a heatwave for the last 3 days. Humid and 90s. Gross.

The sunsets. The heat. A new day.

Day 13, Friday the 13th. How do I deal with anger? I have to talk it out. Sometimes cry. Therapy. Write. Photography and when I get quiet. Be worried. I mean really that’s it. Then it all gets figured out after all out.