I want to be annihilated completely, I want reciprocal forgetting, I want the angels not to recognize me.


when you’re doing everything wrong, you begin to forget what’s right

I’m messing up again, no not in the heroin-arms-call-me-baby kinda way, but in another if not more significant way. I’m messing up with the love of my life.

Mostly, I feel out of it, oblivious to his pain, knee deep in my own night sweats, my own anxieties. I know he needs me more than I need him right now. But I keep pulling him into my rib cage, he holds onto th bone bars and cries out, again, I feel nothing. Too medicated to realize I’m the one killing my only hope.

I need to get a job, but nigling doubts hold me back. I’m scared I’ll fail. He’s riding his hopes on this. He needs me to make the moolah because we’re stuck, he’s being sued, we might lose ththe car, wait wait I can’t crack, I need that job, I’m too weak, I’m sick, wait no I’m screaming inside screaming at the top of my lungs, my bones are cracking, I’m in doubt, were gonnna lose the car, were going to die without my job. We’re not going to make it this time.

I’ve built a wall around my mind, so not a single person may find me. I can’t read him. He can’t read me. We need to break the walls, bring out the trumpets, marry his kingdoms ruler to my queen, build trust. It’s so simple ain’t it? Ain’t it? 

I can’t hold the details together, I can’t sew them into my seams. You said what? When was that? I forget. I don’t know. I’m going to hide now.

There must be a way to return to normality. To a time when he kisses me, touches me again, instead of me forcing my desperate lips onto his reluctant, miserable ones. When we can look with laughing eyes at each other, instead of tearful ones. 

how do I go back? Or is it forward?


Pale Angel

The pale angel, whispering and angular, is at the center of a fragmented dream world. His vocal poetry is haunting and lithe – winding light around his stairstep-spine. Call him “Beautiful One.” Call him “Best Friend.” Call him “You-Take-My-Breath-Away.” The only instrument he requires is freedom, the type that moves with dissonant waves – all lyricism and vigor, like a breakdown made for dreamers. But, I don’t think he saw me. I don’t think he noticed my desperation for something real, for someone to touch my ribcage-elbows-collarbone and affirm my existence. Can I help but to want to be danced upside down, to spin around like youthful romance, to jump and be okay? I look into my bathroom mirror, striped down bare and ready to take my shower. It’s 3:00am but I have nowhere to be tomorrow, or the next day or the next. 


boys dont just hurt with their words – they hurt with their silences


i though it was me, still do in those harsh moments between crying and not, midnight and tomorrow. I feel hollow. I never knew recovery would be just as hollow as addiction/

but it is – pleasantly hollow.

there is nothing to do now but starve. i feel gross and fat. my medicine leaves me lethargic and fat. this house where i eat leaves me unsatisfied and fat. my boyfriend wont touch me thus leaving me sexless and fat. fat. fat. fat.

where there is a will there is a way. He hurts me more everyday – until reding takes precedent over talking and familiarity takes the place of love.

is there love anymore? theres certainly no passion. no lust. nothing sacredly primal. but is there still a sacredness left? When the bodies of two lie facing each other? holding on tight for the sheer force of the world might rip them apart. Have the angels come unstuck from heaven?

I like it, I’m not gonna crack
I miss you, I’m not gonna crack
I love you, I’m not gonna crack
I killed you, I’m not gonna crack

I like it, I’m not gonna crack
I miss you, I’m not gonna crack
I love you, I’m not gonna crack
I killed you, I’m not gonna crack

we shall never know.

Medicinal M&ms

A lot of times I don’t take my medicine seriously. I frequently skip doses. I don’t think it’s a good thing, but I do feel more myself when I don’t take them. I also have more shamanic visions which I really like. Maybe I’m just crazy though?

on the other side. I pop the anti anxiety drugs like candy. 2,4,6…12. Who knows. I stopped counting now.

I don’t want to feel tonight

i’ll follow you forever

the snow won’t go away, my nose runs down my face
no one sees me here, it doesn’t even matter
and every step i take, i stay in the same place
i can’t begin to start again why can’t i just be perfect?

i will never recover from this
i will never believe in this again
i can never go back to the way i used to be before this started

– “ides of march” by Silverstein 

You are my world, dearest babydoll. You haven’t seen me, the crazy, the depraved sick things of my life that stick to my ribs like mother’s lies.

Crazy. Something I’ve been told all my life. Maybe I have been all my life. Old life, told all life, as long as I can remember I’ve been “different” a charade of normalcy. It never felt right to me. Friends? So hard to keep. It’s the spirits that haunt me, that listen, that respond. I love it. I love my treefriends. They make me happy and feel normal. But deep down, I fear I’m not. Fear I’ll never be accepted. That one day I’m Just going to break and end up in a ward for the rest of my Life. It’s been prophecized, a demon the scourge of my mind. Myself. My own sick thoughts that have lulled me into vivid nightmares for so long now. I’ve lived in fear most of my life. But not with you, finally, oh baby not with you. You make my life a dreamland, like everything can suddenly be special again. The dark holds me but you, oh sweetness… you must be the light.

It’s thanksgiving today. I feel thankful. Mom said I’ve been making progress…which means ugh now I have to ruin thanksgiving again. I have to regress so she doesn’t treat me differently. So she doesn’t one day think I’m magically “better” and then poof I’m an adult. I don’t want to be an adult because I KNOW what that means: responsibility, mundaneness, endless work, meaninglessness, routine tasks, no magic, no innocence, no fun, no happiness….boring. Stupid. Horrid.

I don’t want any of it.

Sometimes I think it mght be ok…but those thoughts scare me. It’s like my mind is turning against me, my body has already turned against me. I remember when I hit puberty, plucking out pubic hairs with a tweezer and when they got too much, ripping them out in clumps by hand. Wearing tight sports bras to band my chest. Never wanting to change my clothing style till it became ridiculous to the point of ridicule. I still don’t like jeans.


“Peter Pan Syndrome”

We love the taste of cereal and would have breakfast at every meal if we could – cheerios and chocolate milkshakes over a pile of comic books, dreaming.

Let’s never read directions, but twist our way through streets – destination anywhere – winding our way to sunset. And it seems so careless, but I just want to let my soul drift with yours in an eternal state of wanderlust.

If you’re curious, my favorite color is violet. I sing in the shower sometimes and I read books in the corner next to the vent. I wish I could smell like strawberry candy, and sidewalk chalk was my first paint brush. I have trouble using a desk at home and I will always harbor an affinity for oatmeal raisin cookies. I have nothing to hide

Tell me your dreams over the phone and take me with you to that sun-drenched island – home base – with your library of matrices, wastelands, lost cities, and demons. In the eclipse of my sun, when my imaginary friends disappear in the darkness, please remain.

You say what you feel, and mean what you say, and say what you see, and you see love. I do too.

Let’s run away to never-never land and never, never come back.


Hold grudges. 

It’s poison to the soul.


Letter To My Lover

Dear Forever,

I have pushed through bodies to get to you, pushed through late nights crying over the wrong people, through meaningless, thoughtless sex, and through hopes that have always led to despair. I was mechanical. I was mostly drunk. I was dead.

I though it was normal to cry every night, to let things happen to your body – unwanted touches, and painful caresses ending in loss of myself, moment by moment, piece by piece. It does not get better than this, I told myself endlessly. I made this bed. I deserve this bedding.

mom’s the only one who cares about me, and sometimes she doesn’t understand, know or feel my pain, my loss of control, my self disdain

You showed up at the brutal parting, my forced removal from The All Knowing One, a painful distancing. I cut my arms so deep while I was on the phone with him after he said – it’s done, don’t contact me anymore, you’re poison. I cut them so hard, so emotionally. Blood dripped down my arms, blood pooled on the carpet, my mother screamed and screamed until I couldn’t hear her anymore. The world blurred as my fragile network of lies and truths, or lies that became truths, burned in my heart. Dad got the gauze. My younger brother fell silent. He’s been silent a long time now.

And in the wake of the waves of pain, deep from the ashes of my life, as I tried and struggled with purpose and loneliness. I found you. I fucking found you online. I /saw/ you. I knew.

I don’t want to say you fixed me, because I had a hand in that too. I don’t want to say you destroyed me, because I loved heroin just as much. We have had our share of tough times, just like a plethora of good. I didn’t want to believe we couldn’t be together without drugs, so I mostly didn’t… and we got sober, we got closer, we got healed and we now have each other to thank for it, to save ourselves from the misery of returning to the families we wronged, our lives we ruined, and the pain of our emotions returning to us.

I love your humor, I love your scent, I love the way you are so honest with me, never leading me on or leading me astray. You love me for me, for who I am not who I want to be or worse, who I think I am. You don’t care if my hair is knotted, I just woke up or I am throwing a tantrum because I’m sleepy and can’t find my phone and think I’m going crazy because I checked there, no, I /checked over there/ do. not. Oh ok it was over there? Thanks.

We are not the same, I learned that from you. We don’t have to be the exact same person, that’s ok. We don’t have to be in the same room, which is code for: I feel secure you won’t leave me. I can sleep without you immediately dropping everything and going to sleep too. I had to learn that also. You’ve been a great teacher. You’ve been a better best friend.

I can honestly say I /know/ you, which is almost as good as loving you. I understand, so do you. So when there’s a day we don’t kiss or sit next each other all day or I go for a walk without you, I don’t feel any less loved, any less special, in love or cared about. It’s quite the gift you gave me.

You didn’t steal my heart, you mended it and let me hang on to it for a while. The fact that you have it now? It’s because I decided you were worthy. It was mine to give. It’s mine to take back if I so choose.

Nevertheless, it’s yours now, and I love you so much.

Thank you, with all the love of my being,

To you, my Beautiful One

–Catie bug.