Introductions are stupid (Version 8.0)

Hello. My real name is Chris and my online handle is Crmsnmth (as if that wasn’t obvious). I’m a 20 year old male trapped in the body of a 37 year old male. I take the phrase “I don’t want to grow up” as the philosophy around the way I live. I think it’s a pretty good thought process.

My sexuality is as confusing as can be, and I’m not really sure what the hell I am. There’s too many choices. Besides, is it really your business?

I’ve worked for the past ten years in many different kitchens. For the last five years, I was the kitchen manager/lead line cook at a bowling alley (Small town) and for a year on top of that, I had a second line cook job. I was working seven days a week, and no, that didn’t bother me. I always thought of it has a good thing. I’m extremely introverted and work is the one place where I’m confident enough to push through it. I had to leave both those jobs after my house caught on fire on September 11 of 2025. Insurance found us a new place, but it’s in a new town, and as I write this I start a new line cook job in about an hour.

I live in central WI. It sucks. And what sucks even more is I’m sober. As in I don’t drink at all anymore. WI’s reputation is real, and it’s hard to be social when I feel like it. There’s no other places to hang out then shitty dive bars. And I never go, lest I be tempted. Along with being sober, I’m a forever recovering addict with ten years clean.

My brain doesn’t work right. I am medicated for my issues. It took a long time, but I’m finally on the right path to being somewhat stable.

Music is the single most important thing I have. I listen to a little bit of everything, and I’m far from genrephobic. My daily playlist grows constantly and holds everything from Miley Cyrus and Katy Perry to Iwrestledabearonce and Drugs Dragon (a Milwaukee band I think everyone should check out). My favorite band is The Descendents but my favorite songwriter/artist is Amigo The Devil. My favorite songs are polar opposites of themselves. Stand By Me by Ben E King and Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen. If you have a band or song that means something to you, please for the love of all things share it with me. I’m always on the look out for new music.

I’m also a major cinephile. I have seen probably every single slasher eighties movie, and I love every single one of them. Other than horror, I love weird movies. You know what I mean. Those indie art movies. Oddly, my favorite film ever made is Tommy Wiseau’s “The Room.” And no, I’m not trying to be funny. That movie is the most perfect film every and I will die on this hill.

I don’t write for anyone’s approval. Not even my own. I do this because it is my healthy outlet. I do it because it’s an addiction that isn’t actively trying to kill me. I do it for my mental health. I do it to get things off my chest and share my story in the hopes that it helps somebody out there. I do this to show that I’m reaching my hand out, and strangers or not, I’ll always have an ear to listen. I know what it’s like to be completely surrounded by people and yet still feel so alone. Like I said, I do not write for anyone, sometimes not even myself. But I love constructive criticism. I think it’s important in getting better at this consuming hobby. But please, if you’re going to critique, have a reason other than you don’t like, or that’s now how you would write it. If that’s all you have in your arsenal, please don’t bother. If I wanted to hear an asshole, I’d fart.

Since I do write so much, what kind of topics can you find here? I’m pretty predictable when it comes down to it.

So, I write about this stuff:
The Girl with the Ocean Blue Eyes*, Kid*, Hazel Eyes*, My Junkie Angel*, The Girl From California*, Vex*, The Broken Mirror Girl*, Ghost*, The Dirty Blonde Boy* love, lost lovers, hopelessness, isolation, solitude, drug addiction, alcoholism, depression, forgotten faces, mental illnesses, rage, hate, rejection, joy, insignificant moments, slices of life, laughter, beauty, Self and Self-reflection, self-hate, art, other writers, panic, infatuations, obsession, therapy, group homes, rehabs, jail, grace, nature, loss, hope, fear, grief, anguish, philosophy, anarchism, nihilism, religion, god, the devil, ugliness, politics, serial killers, cults, suicide, death, destruction, chaos, music, validation, closure, memory, enemies, friends, rock bottom, sex, violence, rock and roll, sin, self-exploration, bipolar disorder, schizoaffective disorder, pain, self-destruction and so much more.

My notes app is full as can be with ideas. Alot of the times, it starts with a simple line that I build around, or an idea based on an experience from my life. Some days, I won’t post at all, and other days I’ll slam out a crap ton.

My inspirations include Trent Reznor, William S Boroughs, Danny Kiranos, Clive Barker, Brian Molko, Billy Corgan, Pat “The Bunny” Schweenis, Frank Turner, Will Alexander, Antonin Artaud, Davey Havok, and plenty of others.

THIS SENTENCE IS YOUR BLANKET TRIGGER WARNING.
I write about being miserable a lot. I’m bound to cause some issues.

I make music too and would love for you to tell me how much I suck at it.

https://www.reverbnation.com/crmsnmth

I think that’s everything. Feel free to ask or message at any time. I may not answer right away, but I will get there eventually. I love to meet new people when it’s through a computer screen. People are easier when their just pixels.

*NOT THEIR REAL NAMES

No solicitors.

She sips her coffee like it’s blood
a bitter ritual in the dim lit cafe
eyeliner sharp as broken glass
her laugh a knife that cuts through the gray

Vinyl scratches haunt the silence
as she quotes poets no one remembers
her hands trace tattoos of unnamed gods
while I drown in the smoke of her cigarettes

She rides a bicycle through midnight streets
bell ringing like an echo of lost time
her smile is a paradox
warm yet colder than the moon

I follow her into thrifted labyrinths
where vintage ghosts cling to dusty shelves
and she lifts her gaze with that crooked smile
the one that says she owns the night
and every heartbeat I’ve ever had

In her apartment, the walls hum
with the murmurs of forgotten records
candles burn in bottles like tiny suns
and I trace the shadows of her tattoos
trying to memorize the constellation of her
skin

She laughs at my questions
like they’re fragile insects caught in her
hands
and I burn in the warmth of her indifference
a moth circling a flame it knows
will never hold it

She writes letters in invisible ink
leaves them in pockets of jackets I’ll never
wear
and speaks in riddles that curl
around my mind like smoke
I wake in the night
hearing the echo of her footsteps
down streets I’ll never follow

Yet, I chase her anyway
through the drizzle of those summer nights
through the glow of neon and the ache of
vinyl
through the cafes where her shadow lingers
longer than she does
through the ghostly perfume of her existence
and I am lost, and I am hers
and I would never leave
even if she asked me to drown
in the bitter cup of her coffee

I buried my life in shallow tomorrow
marked the grave with plans I never kept
the soil still warm from everything I was
the earth impatient to forget my name

Starting over isn’t rebirth
it’s excavation
it’s digging with broken hands
for pieces you’re not sure deserve saving

The world says begin again
like its a gift
but no one talks about the cost of
remembering
what burned the first time

I wear new days like borrowed clothes
they fit wrong
they smell like hope
someone else already believed in

behind me, ruins
ahead, scaffolding and silence
every step forward echoes
with the sound of things collapsing twice

Still, the ash hasn’t killed the soil
Something stubborn keeps breathing
underneath
Not faith
Not optimism

just the refusal
to lie down where I fell

The boy with dirty blonde hair
stood where the light gave up

His hair held the color of old wheat
sun bleached and forgotten
like something that once grew freely
before the fields were burned

People mistook him for harmless
soft color, pale lashes
a face that looked like it belonged
to better stories

But shadows followed him anyway
they gathered in his pockets
under his fingernails
behind the careful silence of his smile

He learned early
that sweetness rots faster than bitterness
that boys who look like summer
are never believed when winter lives inside
them

At night he listened to the walls breathe
he memorized the sound of doors closing
he carried anger gently
like a blade wrapped in cloth

When he finally spoke
his voice did not shake
it sank

And wherever his footsteps faded
the air remembered him
long after the light refused to

At fist it was only a whisper
a mispronounced thought
tapping gently on the inside of my skull
like a moth testing glass

I blamed the walls
they had begun to breathe at night
expanding with secrets
contracting with judgment

Clocks learned new rhythms
seconds limping, minutes multiplying
time bending itself
into cruel little knots

My reflection started arriving late
sometimes it smiled
after I didn’t
Sometimes it watched me
like it was taking notes

Language peeled apart
words slipped their meanings
fell open like broken boxes
home became a room with no door
sleep a rehearsal for vanishing

I tried to hold onto reason
but it sweated in my hands
in a bar of soap labeled normal
that laughed as it slid away

The world grew louder
then suddenly too quiet
what terrible quiet
where your own thoughts
stand too close

I don’t remember the moment it happened
Madness isn’t a cliff
it’s a shoreline
each wave familiar
until you realize
your feet no longer touch bottom

Now even certainty flickers
Up feels optional
names taste wrong
memories rearrange themselves
when I’m not looking

Still
somewhere inside the noise
a small, stubborn witness remains
pressing its ear to the chaos
whispering

Something is wrong

And somehow
that knowledge alone
is the last thread
keeping me
from disappearing entirely

I love you the way locked rooms are loved
by standing outside them
memorizing the grain of the door
pretending I never wanted in

Your life moves without me
a river I’m not allowed to cross
I wave from the bank
like this is what I chose

Every version of you I know
belongs to someone else
your laughter already answered
your hands already promised

I practice letting go in small ways
not saying your name out loud
not imagining mornings
not hoping you’ll turn around

But love doesn’t listen to rules
it stays, quiet and uninvited
like a chair pulled up to an empty place
that will never be set for me

So I carry you gently
the way you carry something fragile
you were never meant to keep
careful not to break it
careful not to be seen

The alarm cuts me open
like a blade I didn’t ask for
sunlight slides in
but it tastes of ash
like the world has already forgotten about me

I rise, dragging bones through
the hollow echo of yesterday
every step is a question
I can’t answer
every mirror is a witness
to the emptiness I carry

Coffee steams like regret
cold crumbs of conversation
cling to the table
where no one sits

The walls sigh with memories
the ceiling watches silently
even the shadows have left
for somewhere warmer

I am tired
of the mornings
of the small betrayals of routine
of the way the day begins
without anyone noticing

And when night returns
it will not save me
because I have already fallen asleep
inside the silence of my own body

You call me your friend
and I let the word sit there
uneasy, like a chair with one short leg
I’ve learned how not to flinch

You speak in monologues
sentences that don’t expect answers
stories I’ve already heard
but somehow owe fresh reactions to

I know when to smile
I know when to hum agreement
I know the exact tilt of my head
that convinces you I’m listening
when I’m really counting exits

You take up space without noticing
Your problems arrive first
unpacking themselves
and leave no room for mine

When I try to speak
you interrupt gently
as if cutting me off
is a kindness you’re proud of

I memorize your contradictions
how you demand honesty
but only in flattering shapes
how you call yourself self aware
like it’s a shield instead of a question

Sometimes I envy your comfort
how easily you assume you’re wanted
how rarely you doubt the sound of your own
voice
I wonder what that must feel like

I stay because leaving feels dramatic
because distance requires explanations
because you’ve never done anything
bad enough to justify my relief
at the thought of not being here

So I show up
I nod
I answer texts eventually

And one day, quietly
I won’t

You’ll tell people
we drifted apart
You won’t be wrong

The vinyl booth sighs when we sit
Coffee steams between us
like something we’re afraid of touch

She stirs sugar she doesn’t need
eyes fixed on the window
rain making decisions for the street outside

I memorize the small things
the way her sleeve falls to her wrist
the chipped edge of her mug
how silence keeps choosing us

We talk about nothing carefully
Weather
Work
Words lined up like plates
no one plans to finish

Across from her
I nod at the right moments
hold my hands together
pretend my heart isn’t leaning forward

The check comes too soon
It always does
We stand and say goodbye softly
and leave the part of us
that almost spoke
right there on the table

I loved you the way a house love its fire
for warmth, for light
never asking what it costs the walls

Now the rooms are black with smoke
and I wander them touching scorch marks
calling them memories so they don’t scream
back

You didn’t leave all at once
You thinned
like blood loss you don’t notice
until the floor tilts and you’re already down

I kept setting places for you in my chest
kept feeding a ghost
until even hunger got bored of waiting

Falling out of love isn’t a break
it’s weathering
a thousand quiet apologies to yourself
for staying when the tide had already learned
your name

Now I stand on what’s left of the shore
holding a heart shaped like void
learning that some endings don’t hurt
because they end
they hurt because they took so long to stop

I learned young
that silence has the weight
it presses on the chest
like a hand that never lets go

The house was full
walls, doors, clocks ticking
but no one heard
the sound of me becoming invisible

Hunger wasn’t always for food
sometimes it was a voice saying my name
a question asked twice
a glance that stayed

I grew up counting footsteps
measuring moods like weather
learning when to disappear
before the storm arrived

My toys gathered dust
my tears learned discipline
I cried softly
even sadness knew not to be loud

Night tucked me in instead of hands
the ceiling became my witness
I told it secrets
it never answered

They say children are resilient
but they don’t say
how resilience is born
from bending until breaking feels normal

Now I flinch at kindness
wait for love to forget me
build walls from the rooms
I was left alone in

There’s a child still sitting inside my ribs
knees pulled tight
waiting for someone
who already didn’t come