poem: boring afternoon depression

some questions for today: when did my image consume my soul? and how the fuck did i end up the 'good girl'? can we return to the before—when he was still a mystery, when i did not make hell into a casual routine; crying in your room alone to my chemical romance is so seventeen;…

poem: you can publish, but you must use a pseudonym

they call me no-name, little ghost and spirited what-if that runs and dances among the has-beens and will-be's. i have deep holes where my eyes should be, i have a pulsing sticky heart where my mouth should be: I cannot talk, but I can bleed.   I can not even claim what is mine as…