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


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

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.

Trading Bondage for Vagabondage

Well, after about two hard years of lying, stealing, cheating, fucking the banks and the credit card companies, all for the love, no, the burning desire, unstoppable force of heroin, we are clean and have been for about two weeks. It’s nice, er, it would be nice if we didn’t have to live this miserable homeless existence in the car or out on the street panhandling. At least we’re not getting sick, right?

However there is a few problems.

1. The void in my heart/brain/soul that heroin numbed and filled is back again. I’ve been trying to fill it with my pagan faith, positive affirmations, meditation and magick. But alas, it still pains me. I think one of these days, I’m going to o step in from of a speeding 18-wheeler and nobody will be able to stop me.

2. Kevin doesn’t want to kiss me, touch me, fuck me. I thought that would help with the void. He’s been so mean to me – ordering me out of the car, throwing Charlie (my lovable oversized stuffed brown bear that I feel is my protector and good good friend), yelling at me, driving risky, and all around terrifying me. He says he’s sorry eventually sometimes – but this last time…. was so bad…. I’m finding it harder and harder to forgive him. I don’t want it to be this way, but I’m not th one that started this.

3. My parents are moving from the house that I grew up in to a home in Florida. That means I lose the house I love, the woods and trees that grow on that property that I love, my parents won’t be here to give me food, clothing or money, I won’t have access to my magick box, clothing, blankets, jewelry or anything. When I miss my mom or dad they are supposed to be there – accessible for hugs and snuggles and taking care of me when I’m sick or sad or in need of their parental love and presence. My world is literally turning inside out with the thought that they’ll be leaving MY HOME. MY FOREVER HOME, MY HEART HOME, MY GREATEST SANCTUARY AND SHELTER. Annnnd me and Kev are on methadone, which you have to go to the clinic everyday so it’s not like we can just stop that and leave. Kev can’t even leave the state right now cuz he’s on probation. And I’m not sure if dad, who hates my bf with a passion, will help both of us get set up in Florida.

I literally hate everyone right now – except maybe my mother (which is extremely odd)




Passing your house the other day…

nostalgia never fails to reach me.
I never fail to remember the dates to every single important thing that happened.
I remember the date when we first kissed, I remember the date I met your parents,
and I remember today’s date last year.
I remember that day I was really upset about something and started crying on the phone and you with your goddamn sweet voice started reading that goddamn sweet poem I gave you earlier and I guess you thought it would make me stop crying because I did. and I smiled and I remember you telling me how much you love me and how I felt your comfort and presence even though I was alone in bed and I remember that night clearly and I remember. you loved me.
nostalgia never fails to make me miss you.



Pen Pal, Asylum by Megan Merchant

I’m loose wires, twirls of yarn hair,

burnt-ash eyes swept from a stockroom floor.

I’m eighty percent paper, pink-thin skin,
litmus-blue for you.

Rub against my matchstick shin,
I’ll ignite.

Wind me up, wind me up
take me for a ride.

My rag-doll lips are vigilant as vultures,
soft as weathered-leather and chard.

My kiss is a spill of cumin on soft
bread, spongy-warm, rising.

Some man patched my wounds
with slop from a bucket.

He milked me, swirled me,
spit me out.

Another burnt buttons along my back
with his cigarette,

said he could see my spirit, like stuffing,
puffing out. I was his child-bride.

Now, I’m yours to sew together,
your pile of groaning breasts and thighs,

a scabbed-map of slices. You can split me
down my scar-lines. Shave me.

Save me. Shoot what you want
into my veins. I’m a cloud pocked with rain.

Wind me up, wind me up,
dig your hands into my spine.

I’ll be your puppet, your glamour-girl,
your bitch-in-heat, your insane.

I’ll play twice-as-nice once the pills
float down this numb-ebbing wave.

I have time, so much time, for the fog
to burn off, the pollution to clear from my brain.

Can you hear the seagulls shriek swallow, swallow,
then check my tongue for a razor out of place ?

(They have trust issues.) Come see.

Crank the bars from the glass. Free me.
I’ll be your moon, your gun. Your edge to scratch on.

I’ll write every day.
Even though it’s hard to know

which one becomes the last. The light
here shines florescent as the waxed floor.

We live in a mad, mad world

Sometime I don’t feel real. I feel transparent or sheer. People see through me or don’t see me at all. I can’t even see myself at times. I have blackouts when I drive. I am there driving then in a moment I am down the road and don’t know how I got there. I still see things – at times, I feel possessed by something more than myself. It’s not a supernatural sort of possession – but it is a demon of sorts. I have been more driven, more in control, more obsessive. Right now, I am obsessed with Victorian England – but in a way – I always have been. Writers are always in love with things that are long gone.

I have been writing poetry as of late. I can’t seem to stop. Nothing is good – I am unsatisfied with the words I write versus the emotions I feel and what I want to say. I remain uncertain of myself and of my path in life.

I have begun eating breakfast and lunch and dinner, but at the end of the day – I still average 500calories a day plus exercise. I try and exercise everyday in a valiant hope to shrink so my visions of disappearing can truly manifest and people will see what I see at last.

Steve, my boyfriend, is still sick and virtually nonexistent in my life. He never answers my calls – misses he special goodnight calls too. He is a broken boy and I still love him though I don’t think he deserves all the unconditional love and time I devote to praying for him, loving him, calling him, thinking about him, shopping for the perfect christmas gift for him etc. What’s worse is that he told me that when he does get better – work, family and friends will come before me – me. me who stood by him, who kept him company, who gave all of myself to him. I just don’t understand. I feel terrible about it.


collect me, sad things, collect me