It wasn’t real

i will deny 

I made up everything.

perpetual caster.

secret keeper


Dear T, I told you things in confidence, I begged and pleaded and pinky sweared with you. You hurt me. You win. 

I’ll be your stepping board. 

You Are Not My Friend

you are not my friend.
you claim that after all these years you are
that our history is proof.
you are not my friend.
You lead me into a darkness
and left me there
only to toy with me when you see fit.
A dom would not let a creature like me suffer.
A dom would NOT allow me to feel so badly.
Oh after care?
Non-exsistant with you.
You’re not a dom.
You’re just a sad fucking man who wanted to hurt a woman who loved you like the woman who you thought loved you hurt you.
I’m sure your grandfather is looking down on you right now….

Yea Yea I’m An Addict

I miss WoW. There. I said it. I miss playing. And with children’s week happening, its my one opportunity to finally knock out that god damn School of Hard Knocks Achievement. I also want to get the darn salty title because….because I do?

But what is that going to do for me? Will I actually feel accomplished if I re-sub, put in the work, BEG friends to come with me to PVP or protect me while I fish during the touney? Is there going to be any satisfaction if I do this? I honestly don’t know.

I also worry about letting people down if I start playing again? I feel like SOMETHING is missing in my life gaming wise. Its forever until football season and Fantasy Football, the League Summer Split isn’t for a couple more weeks. There is something missing and I want to know what it is.

I feel like I’ll be mocked if I go back and play again. Isn’t that sad? I’m afraid of playing a game I love because people on the Internet will judge me for going back to it. Even close friends of mine.

Yea. I guess I won’t.

The light sweetness

Of morning
When words come round
Like scared animals you can’t click on
They dance around finger tips
Aching to get out
Pen and paper out of reach
Comfort of lovers arms not enough to keep me
From rising out of bed
To chase these words
That are never as beautiful
Once written down
losing some of their ethereal wisps
hiding in the stars
who are hiding from the ascending sun
Written by

I am not afraid of my truth

I speak it. Faithfully like a black preacher in front of his choir in Alabama on a Sunday, praising your existence. I sing it. My voice cracking from the honesty when I bellow about you in sold out stadiums. I write it. Like a police report, like a Stephen King novel, like a final dissertation. Conviction. Description. […]

April 7, 2015 0
Written by


You know my depths, and use it against me, your silence cuts deeper than any hateful dialog I can make up in my head.

April 1, 2015 0
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This is about me, not about you.