Tag Archives: writer

Numbing Numbness (Life of a Writer)

​I can’t say that I feel anything for anyone. Nothing real, at least. 

“I miss you”s and “I love you”s have become so, for lack of a more unique word, empty. Hugs and kisses and sex feel good but not down to my seemingly broken soul. I wish that I could drown out these thoughts with the music and birds and kids playing and car alarm going off right now, but they whisper so softly that it’s almost like a fucking shriek. And I just wanna scream and burn away the painful words that’ll creep their way up my throat with cigarettes and the drip. But the vices can’t save me by drowning me anymore. This is the kind of numbness and disassociation and self confusion that I can’t fuck away. I can’t buzz away; I can’t smoke out of my body. Or snort out of my fucking mind. I’m so sick of being this sick. Was I born this ill? Why do my diseases and conditions have to affect me inside and out?

I miss being held and feeling like I was cured. But it only lasts as long as I can get used to somebody’s body and then the touch of their skin makes me uncomfortable in mine and then I feel disease ridden all over again. I hope to forget about this and read it over two years from now and wonder how long it’s been since I felt so hopeless and lost. But I seem to only get worse with every forgotten passage and lose articulation as time passes. 

I wish that he could save me or, god forbid, another he in my life… but I’ve been told and have told others that you can only save yourself. 

But what a fucking hypocritical cliché because I don’t have the slightest clue of what that means or where to even begin. 

I’m so scared, so fucking terrified and petrified that I will always have to self medicate to pretend to cope with so much fucking pain. I hurt so constantly and so deeply and it subsequently makes me feel more inclined to take it upon myself to dull it.

How in the hell does anyone think that they’re supposed to numb their numbness? 

I don’t think that a writer realizes just how much pain that they’re in until they unload after paper silence for months. It’s such a freeing entrapment.

I feel that I’ve made some sort of breakthrough yet I’ve just dug myself into an even more gaping emotional and mental whole. What a fucking morose contradictory art. 

I don’t know what I want to do or be. I’m afraid that I have no fucking clue of who I am, but I’m more afraid that I know exactly who I am. I think that the latter is more horrifying. 

How the fuck is this any way to live? How in the world is this a life?
~Megan Chruszczyk


Small Town Diaries (Pt. 1)

This small town is so lonely
The streets are empty but overpopulated by desperate sighs for companionship
We fill in the ringing of loneliness in our ears with good music
But good music is only good company until it gets inside of you and then you’re alone once again
My only partner in impossible opportunity for crime used to be whatever I knew would hit my bloodstream first, but I wanted to keep the company of my sanity, so I welcomed loneliness to the seat next to me once again and wrapped my arm around it, placing my detoxing heart in between us
It is possible to regret letting go of an addiction, but I didn’t know what else to use the last of my strength on
You could say that I had no idea that using my last ounce of fight on something that made me feel on top of the world would open the door for such a strength to walk charmingly into my life
I want so badly to go back to my roots, but I have a bad habit of never returning any of its calls for me


Quiet Fire

I could hold as many grudges as I want with incredibly good reason, but then how in the world would I have any room to hold on to the wonderful things?
The look in your eyes says marvelous things, but then your actions speak some sort of foreign language
And your aura… it is like shaky hands
Just let me hold them tightly so I can reassure you that time is of the essence, yes, but so is taking life moment by every miniscule to grand moment
I am miss black lung and buzzing head
Miss enigmatic open book and big broken heart
Miss captivating eyes and busted sense of self
I may be nearly blind, but I see clearly in hindsight
And I don’t need 20/20 vision to see right into your soul
Don’t even waste your time on underestimating the flames of a quiet fire, because, one day, that spark from my touch will light up your life
I have scorched earth in my luminescent blue and green eyes but I have a soft spot for boys with a warm gaze who taste like cigarettes and don’t ask me to let them love me


Words Are My Weapon; My Mind Is The Arsenal

I am a writer, the english language is my art supplies

I have an addiction to conversation an unreasonable love for my language

I will not ever personally label my own self as a poet, but I believe that inspiration dances around my words sometimes

I can use the pitch of my voice and movement of my tongue to paint you the most beautiful sunset that you have ever seen

I can get you lost in the most terrifying non-existent dreamland with the seemingly monotonous taps on a keyboard that ends far too quickly for me

I know how to get in and out of trouble. I know how to make you completely forget about what we were supposed to be talking about.

I am a writer; I can make you laugh, I can make you cry, I can make you smile, and I can make you frown

I possess the ability to make your heart race, to make you fall in love, and to piss you the fuck off

I am a writer; your every emotion is intertwined within the ink inside of a single pen, held within every key on my outdated keyboard

I know what I am doing when it comes to words

I know what I am doing when it comes to your imagination

With writing, I, in the moments that you enter the world of my chaotic and enigmatic mind, hold each string attached to every single one of your emotions

And trust me, dear, I will pull as many as humanly possible sometimes

I will shock you, I will impress you

Most importantly, I will open your eyes

I know how to make it look like my first nature. In some ways, it is my first nature.

I am a writer; words are my weapon.

My mind is the arsenal

And I….. I will change your life

~Conversationally addicted word lover~


I’ll Be Your Masterpiece

I make-believe strength

I play dress up in concepts that I’ve yet to grasp and drag my feet in shoes that I can’t seem to fill

I’ve lost the key to my mind and there’s no picking a lock into ideas

People are far too heavy to hold up all the time but if you would just hold my hand, we could lead each other instead of bringing anyone down

All I want is be woken up by the light of your eyes and the touch of your lips like unforgiving rays of sunshine warming my cheeks as I struggle to open my eyes that tell you “good morning” without me even having to utter a word

Just brush your sentences through my hair and dress me up in the idea of being with me for the rest of your life

I’ve lost my fear of falling; I’m too clumsy and eager for such a silly idea anyway

Just know that my gentle strokes along your body are never going to be placebos to make you feel love

And that “I love you” never comes out smoothly because it’s not something familiar to me, but I will whisper into your ear how I feel about you until you fall asleep as I try to fight the constant urge to kiss every part of you that comes near me

Pick me flowers and plant their seeds in every scar of mine

Color in my tattoos with the ways that I make you feel; see me as the masterpiece that I am

I am abstract and incomprehensible

Trace every one of my curves and scars with your eyes, your fingertips, your lips

Take them in with every possible inch of your body

Handle me with passion

Hold me with forgiveness

Speak to me with patience

Kiss me firmly and kiss me breathlessly

I want to know that your love is too boundless to stay in the lines


People Leave (Accept That)

People leave. Accept that.

I am not afraid of someone walking out of my life, nor am I afraid of walking out of someone’s

If that’s how it has to be, then that is how it’s going to be. It’s not out of lack of fight, but out of the fact that I refuse to beg to stay.Or be where I am not wanted.

In regards to someone that you fell in love with:

The pain will go away. You will come across someone who has something completely different to offer you. And I know that different is scary, but different is good. And honestly…..different is kinda the point.

Do not be stupid and waste your time that you could be healing and to go running back to the same person who will forever be outstanding at manipulating your relentless heart. It’s just how you and that person work together because of who you are and how your souls chose to relate. And by “work,” I don’t mean that positively, dear. It’s just a statement.

If you’re wondering about whether or not you should keep trying or let go…think about the way that they would handle it if the responsibility was in their hands and only their hands…..are they empty?

I regards to someone that you loved and lost from this earth:

The pain will always be there. But you can’t change a damn thing. It’s shitty, but I genuinely do believe that everything happens for a reason. Maybe you’ll find out in a month from now. Maybe 30 years from now. Maybe you will never know.

No matter who and when and how, do not dwell.

Do not hold on to the past. All you can do is move forward and you are the only one who has any control over that.

Just some advice.


Love Love Love

I sometimes get exhausted by the amount of negativity spoken about love

Why must we magnify how destructive love can be and ignore the potential it has to rebuild?

Why let love be the death of you instead of bring you to life?

If it is love that’s making you ill, then I suggest that you reconsider the poison that you pick

And having doubt for something doesn’t always answer your questions about it, things wouldn’t be as interesting if we weren’t curious

Silence isn’t always the answer you’d been looking for, limitless thoughts are created within seconds

How could you possibly find a guaranteed answer in infinity?




~ Megan