SOL: Stella

He gets high off the ways my
Body opens and creates space
Intergalactic highways through
Arteries making his heart race
Watching muscle stiffen and
Clench in unspoken haste

3AM Thoughts // AKA “Something Better to Send Into the Ether.”

MIND: Fluid

I have never been able to understand people with consistent lives – people who, for example, grow up in a liberal Catholic household and stay that way; or who in junior high school are already laying down a record on which to run for president one day. Imagine having no discarded personalities, no vestigial selves, no visible ruptures with yourself, no gulf of self-forgetfulness, nothing that requires explanation, no alien version of yourself that requires humor and accommodation. What kind of life is that?

Tongues Untied // Michael Warner

MIND: Internal

You have to pull yourself together in order to fall apart. I move in extremes. I need a quiet place to process it all and write. I’m one of those people that get really affected by other people’s energy. Honestly, I can be a bit of a wild animal when someone fucks with me – I don’t take it well, but I also don’t want to be known as someone not able to control my rage, so instead I withdraw.

// Chelsea Wolfe

SOL: Downtown

I wandered downtown at rush hour and
Tried in vain to look someone in the eyes
Great gaping wounds of longing erupt on my skin
They can smell it, they must see it on me
This vast emptiness encompassing my soul
Straight down to the marrow
Bones vibrating through, the incessant need
To be held, to be loved
For the altruistic act of one hand on each
Side of my face, probing my psyche
Reading my mind, repenting me of my sins
Allowing me to lift the omnipresent shroud of guilt
From memory, blessing me with metamorphosis
Aligning me with gentle nudges to the right path
At long last

3AM Thoughts // AKA “She Told Me To Repent My Sins & I Didn’t Know Where To Begin.”

SOL: Distant

The sickening moment of
It can’t be real, go back
The infinitesimal seconds between before and
After where everything is different
When it’s all so new that
You can’t even feel the hurt yet
The twenty-three seconds of suspense
Of self-induced purgatory, of serendipitous imbalance
Floating in a daze and staring in wonderment at
Karmic retribution, a vicious circle
The tricks a tired brain plays and
The drunk heavy tongue telling you it could have been worse
And you know it’s true but you still want
Seventy-five seconds of mourning
Or maybe twenty-four hours of loathing
Cursing the ill-fated luck that brought you
This lesson, imaging what you could have done differently until
It all blurs and you lose touch with reality
Again

3AM Thoughts // AKA “He Watches With Disdain As I Disappear Inside My Mind.”