Seeing Colors

Over the past few months, after months of contemplation, I decided five years was plenty.

Though, I think it was more than six—6 years, since my first rendezvous with Paxil, Celexa, Metoprolol, and the like. Those days, I needed control…

Insert Grad School

A Glorified Hobby

My Masterpiece

Nonetheless, I gradually discovered,

This world sucks when it’s always grey…


Painting my nails black was a fanciful control over my mood,

Without contemplation.

The control hypocritical.

As if i had something left to lose

There was nothing left to mourn


Today, they’re naked

No top coat

No buffers

Only cracked, keratin cells





I’ve been off of my 200mg off Zoloft for 8 weeks.

Off the Buspar for 10


I took my last 1/2, .5mg Xanax, on a Bumble, first date,

A week back—inconsequential;

A Sunday, at a coffee shop, with an atheist

I couldn’t reconcile

Haven’t reconciled

With my life.


I feel so different, today….


I started writing this post 8 weeks ago,

Updating, at times thinking

nearly done


Sure, it’s still fairly grey

Of course, I’m still fucked up


But it’s me, fucked up


Smiling, fucked up

Altered, enough

Content, fucked up.


Today, Trump is still… mother-fucking…


And I intend,

On giving myself a pedicure.

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