Nobody without my Demons

03/04/2026

Kitty & Unicorn

02/04/2026

The Crow

02/04/2026

I wrote this 15 years ago

In life, there are brick walls meant to stop you. Some people slam into them over and over, bleeding, confusion, asking, “Why won’t it move?”

Others notice a door, turn the handle, and leave without a second thought. I don’t trust that door. Anything that easy feels like a lie.

So I hunt for a window.

I press my face to the glass and ask, “How much will this hurt?” Sometimes it’s thin, and I still hesitate-because pain, at least, makes sense.

Other times it’s steel. Cold. Unforgiving.
And I hit it anyway. Again. And again.
Knuckles split. Bones ache. I keep swinging like suffering might earn me passage.

Sometimes I stop.
I stare at it for a long time.
Not resting- just calculating whether it’s stronger than I am,or if it’s simply waiting for me to break first.

Right now, it’s cracking.

A fracture spiderwebs across the surface, letting light bleed through.
My fist is pulled back, shaking, furious, exhausted- because if I don’t shatter this window now...

I’m afraid I never will.

01/20/2026

Powerful song

From our small show in Los Angeles, here is the very first live performance of Downstairs.Stream Breach: https://top.lnk.to/breachStream "Downstairs”: https:...

01/14/2026

Stop fighting it, embrace it

01/03/2026

12/30/2025

Trapped

I woke up inside a body
that forgot how to answer me.
It lets me speak,
lets me hear the world pass by,
lets me see everything I cannot touch-
but nothing more.

I scream inside it.
A full-throated, breaking scream
that never reaches my mouth.
From the outside I am still,
but inside my ribs
something is clawing at the walls.

I try to move.
Pain says no.
Fatigue tightens its grip
and pulls me back down.
Each attempt costs more
than it should,
more than I have.

So I do the only thing left-
I work my way back in.

Slowly.
Carefully.
Like sinking in mud
that doesn’t care how long I’ve been stuck.

I find a vine; thin, frayed,
maybe hope, maybe habit-
and I pull.

Tug.
Breathe.
Pull again.

I beg it not to break
as my hands burn,
as my strength shakes,
as progress feels invisible.

Tug.
Rest.
Pull.

This is healing-
not a miracle,
not a sudden return-
but the quiet refusal to let go,
the patience to inch forward
even when the body resists,
even when the scream stays silent.

And little by little,
I feel myself coming back-
mud still clinging,
voice still trembling-
but here,
alive inside my own skin again.

12/14/2025

It's been awhile since I posted. I hope everyone is hanging in there during this holiday season ❤️

07/13/2025