Will // 10.10.21

Your grandfather died in a car accident at 41 years of age , my mother tells us. She means to scare us, to warn us of the dangers of driving on country roads. But I am reckless, and I do not fear death. I know I should, but I don't. At least, not really. I often wonder as I speed along a freeway . . . how many people would actually care or be shaken if I should crash? I write this the night before I head out to the outback with my housemate. I'm excited, but I also feel a little uneasy since we're driving out to the unknown. I feel like writing maybe a will of sorts. I don't quite know the legitimacy of such an entry, whether this can be taken as legal proof, but whatever. If I die . . . (and I have been meaning to write something like this for months and months since I do expose myself to a myriad of potential dangers - it makes me feel alive or something) [last names not included here for privacy since this is a blog, but in my context, I'd hope that it could stil

Passionate whisperings // 28.08.21

I shall click upon the black, Sounds to soothe the nerves and feel The rise and fall of life itself I make it happen with each breath, Torrents of water droplets cascade down The river flowing down supple skin I try to smile through the pain, Sun through bloodshot eyes filters The emptiness that lives within I can begin to love her, Deeper hunger soars through skies unknown The garden how cherished, my dear ~ He inspires me.  Ignites the passion hidden deep within.  Even if it's terrible, even when it hurts it's good. It is healing, and I am whole.  He climbed up quivering mountains and made a home in my maelstrom,  embraced every flawed and beautiful part of me. He planted the seeds that may well one day set me free.  I can be whoever I want to be. There is peace in being,  just being, just being me. x Cass


Wrap me up in sheets stained purple by tears of you In the morning light, misty drops of dew Falling down my window How she drips for you. Hold me tighter by summertime these rosy cheeks Reflected in shimmering stars, mountain peaks Slowly falling from chimney tops Like the first last time. Smile for me in rivulets of paper and cotton balls Rolling down wider valleys and hills, smoky thighs How they do bring such highs And make men weep. Climb into me and make a home for us Loving our sweet haze of ocean dust, battle of lust Quickly sliding through fertile fields To ash and dust. ~ She met a boy: a poet, a dreamer. "Same as I . . . ." Too many hopes, too many dreams. So much sorrow. Fears. Tears, flow what may. Away, come away with me, fly just this one day. Tomorrow s he vanishes, flounders, emboldened owl eyes. Her superpower: looking for emergency exits. ~ I think I have come to romanticise the inevitability of a goodbye. How sweet the sorrow. How delectable such pain. Why


Every morning I wake up at 7:30, throw on a jacket and walk out to the street in my PJs to pay for parking. I then slowly get ready for the day while I wait for the kitchen to open at 8 so I can make my oatmeal. Every morning I walk up the three flights of stairs, steaming bowl in my hands, up, up to the rooftop. No matter the weather, I sit on the top step and look out toward the skyline of this city that I have always loved. Today, I spent an hour out there floating amongst the weightless sky, lost in the music: beating invisible drums against my thighs, throwing my head around like a maniac and soft-singing into an invisible mic. Heartbreak tears you apart from the inside out, strips away the parts of you that you thought would last forever. Everything that was familiar and comfortable is pulled out from under you and it feels as though you are flailing in deep oceanic waters for months on end. Your very essence, identity and feelings of worth is put into question. Healing is exhaus


The cobwebs dance along the corrugated iron railings, its woven pattern keeps me from falling. The wide expanse of the city yawns out before me... I drink in its glory with clouded eyes. My hard guitar case is sealed shut. I cannot afford to bring it back out again. Scott has made sure of that. Privacy doesn't exist in this hostel and crying is a sin. Because I think I always will love... and a woman grieving the loss of her greatest love should be left alone. Maybe that's all she deserves for fucking it all up. I fall at your feet once more, knocking on your door. x Cass