My Angrymemorys Twitter account

I thought taking a break would help. I used to feel the urge to write again when I walked away before. Now I can’t even find a spark.

Who am I again? No one important. No one deserving over 20k followers, that’s for sure. I’ve been asked that before. I was no one then. I’m no one now. I don’t mean that in a “ooh, I’m emo sad” way, rather an existential “the universe is too big, too loud, and it’s emptied me out” kind of way.

I’m just some asshole wearing masks that sometimes needed to spill things out. I’ve spilled what I can I think.

I still have a week (I think) before the deactivation of final.

For tonight at least, I’ll let the empty win.



I’m not sure
Which is stronger
The tidal pull of her
An unending ache

Or darkness’s gravity
Dragging me
Into my own abyss

And too many nights
I lay awake wondering
If they aren’t the same


I’m not ok, but I’m ok. This seems to be at odds, but a bit like superposition, both are true.

The fact is I’ll never be ok. This emptiness inside, these nightmares that follow me into the awake, this rage that I hide, but is always there… I’m not ok, and I hate the question. There is no real answer. Any answer it’s a lie or partial one.

But it’s ok. Really it is. That emptiness; it’s always been there, it always will. Those nightmares; sometimes the monster is after me, sometimes I’m the monster – either way, they’re all I know. And that rage; without it, I would have let go, so very long ago.

Don’t ask me, don’t make me lie. But know, even if I lie, I’m telling the truth. I’m not ok, but that’s the only ok I’ve ever known. So believe me when I say, I’m ok.

What Happens

I used to say
My memories
Were like razor blades
Inside my veins

They hurt
To rip them out
But they hurt more
To leave them in

But what happens
When the words
To pull them out
No longer heal

What happens
When every mask
Becomes too heavy
To even wear

These things inside
They often hurt
The boxes I keep them in
Are too many to count

So tell me
Someone please
What happens
When I’ve nothing left

I Have No Idea How


, , , ,

Those years ago
I have no idea
How I opened up
And let her in
No idea how
I let her hurt me
  the way she did
But those holes
In my walls
In my armor
I found them
And sealed them closed
I won’t hurt again
Not like that anyway

The trick is on her though
I kept a piece of her
Trapped inside of me
No matter how far she goes
I’ll have a fragment
Of a love that…
  that shouldn’t have been
    but was
    only for a moment
    lasting a lifetime
      and into the next

Tattered Journal


, ,

I wrote those
     darkest memories
In that tattered old journal
Ink slipped the stories
That only got told
In blood and nightmares
I let slip
The deepest of demons
And when
     the words were done
I took that
     tattered old journal
And set it to flames
Those darkest of memories
     now ash and cinder
Still burning inside
But for a moment at least
     a little cooler
And the nightmares
     a little dimmer

Survive Me


, ,

​You’re stronger than you think
And I know you’ll survive
Even the things
You think that you can’t

But I have to pull away
Because the one thing
That you cannot survive
Is me because of who I am

It isn’t that I doubt your love
Or that there’s any question
About the intensity of mine
Love was never our wall

We were each other’s poison
As much as we ever were the cure
But the scales were never balanced
Always hurting more than healing

Don’t forgive me
Even though you’ll say
There’s nothing to be forgiven
No… don’t forgive me
Survive me