After my grandma died, i started sneaking cigarettes from my dads pack. Sat out back behind the shed, lighting grief on fire just to feel it leave my ...Read more

They say ashes don’t leave footprints, but i hope mine do. Not for fame— just for proof that i burned with intention. That my leaving had shape. I k...Read more

There’s something about depression that feels like mold. Not dramatic. Just steady. Growing behind the walls where no one can see. Slow, quiet decay u...Read more

There’s a certain pitch to loneliness. You only hear it when you’ve run out of lies to tell yourself. It hums, like an empty fridge or an old televisi...Read more

Don’t hand me a Bible Like it’s a Band-Aid for a bullet wound. I didn’t lose faith. It lost me. Somewhere between my third suicide note ...Read more

P a r t • 2 We water our trauma until it grows roots, Name the weeds after people we used to love, And pretend like the thorns don’t hurt When they w...Read more

P a r t • 1 ____________ I’ve been sleeping in a room with no corners. Because sharp edges make me remember how easy it is to bleed without a knife...Read more

Grief doesn’t knock anymore. It has a key. It slips in while I’m laughing. And sits quietly until the smile dies. I carry it in my posture. Hunche...Read more

Desire used to be a fire in my chest. Now it’s a flicker I can’t even name. I watch people chase love, purpose, beauty— And I just… Watch. There’s not...Read more

My laugh, they say, is infectious. A bright, familiar sound that fills the room. But no one ever asks what it ...Read more

Part. 1 Not every suicide is a headline. Some are whispers, stretched over years. Like forgetting to eat, again. Like letting the voicemail box st...Read more