Sta.sh
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:thumb177070775: :thumb185771868: :thumb143606600: one of us has to."hey there."
he supplied the familiarity that we didn't have as i'd never seen him before- it was alluring and i fell.
(he had already fallen)
we fell into easy conversation with a cocoon of comfort that all butterflies need before they can soar and we laughed sparkling wine, getting a bit light-headed because we were just teenagers and that's what we do.
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regardless of age and perceived lack of knowledge, he could read me. he read me like a scarred palm that had flecks of grey and shrapnel embedded into it from the last explosion of out-of-control emotions and i shivered because i didn't know what he'd thi
pastel paper heartsthe teacups survived three weeks of constant usage, being set on window sills and forgotten, cracked in the sink and raised to her lips so often the paint was worn away in two places.
she never noticed they were empty because somehow herbal tea aromas hung from the lampshades and lingered there until her flesh opened and the room was filled with vanilla. everything was in opaque strokes of watercolour pastels and when she licked her lips it reminded her of frozen berries and the way in which her sex was like folding white sheets to tune of Beethoven's 9th symphony..
her house decorated with fairy branches and white hair and kitty cats that
Storyteller
Ink blots dancing around water molecules
spell out your name
writhing around my wrists
coiling and tapering so quickly
I barely have a moment to say something beautiful.
Pulses echoing against my ear,
melancholy notes walking in and out
of my dried, peeling skin
humming your words with fortitude
to stain my thoughts.
You're a dream in black and white,
houses made out of dust
and people made out of polaroids,
standing with your shoulders hunched
and your spine building hills on your back.
I'm a fleeting thought
of fire and sex sweat dripping tentatively
from your forehead and tongue
and you say I roll off your lips like Fre
Fuhre MichShe doesn't want to leave me. She will never leave, no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try. She will never leave me.
True.
Why is she doing this to me? I never wanted her to come.
Yes you did.
I can't stand her anymore. She is evil. She hurts me.
I do not! I'm just protecting you.
I feel tears sliding down my sunken cheeks. Warm and salty little reminders that I am weak. Weak by myself. Weak without…
Me.
The tears are turning into little rivers. I try to ignore her and her insults. I pretend I can't hear her. I pretend she isn't there.
But she is.
She is here. She is inside me.
She has taken over my being. And she does
we will not be conqueredWhen you get back, we'll jump in every puddle we can find. We'll dance in the rain and hunt for the end of the rainbow. We'll get on our hands and knees and look for all the four-leaf clovers there are. We'll go the zoo and laugh as you tame the lions. We'll race through supermarkets, flying on shopping carts and congratulate ourselves when we get kicked out. We'll mend our broken hearts together with duct tape and staples. When you get back, I'll never let you leave again. So you stay strong and don't let anything get you down, and I'll stay here and pray every night to a god that I don't believe in so that you'll come back soon and I'll get
This is a remedy for loveThis is a remedy for broken love
Sit in your room at a quarter to midnight
Switch on Regina Spektor and write
Write till the blistered words of smashed promises
Stop flowing from your hands
Write till the scrunched up drafts
Fill the hole in your heart
Write till the ink
Starts to bind with your blood
And the cool calm words
Start to stitch up your wounded skin
Don't stop till every last drop of words
Is safely scratched upon the page
As dry as your tears are now that you've cried them
Into the pages you wrote
This is a remedy for love
And it doesn't work
Counting down the days...Some days I try not to care that your favorite hobby is slowly killing you; that your favorite part of every day is slowly turning your lungs to ash. Maybe if I stop caring it will stop hurting me to see you, I'll stop counting down the days till you can't breathe because your lungs just couldn't take it anymore. I'll stop counting down the days till I lose my sister, who used to be my best friend.
You're hooked on those paper roles. Maybe I'm just jealous, that love your smokes more than me, or maybe it's because you keep getting smaller and smaller…like every part of your warm pale body is fading away with your lungs. Sometimes I wond
Unwritten AnamoliesMy past is a faith that never leaves me.
So many times I've seen its endless resurrection
Reaching to dissect whatever I've pieced together
My present is a constant mask I must never remove
for fear of accepting my prologue
My future is ballad not written but told in my eyes
Whatever's let of me will drown
in painted legends and mysteries
My epilogue will be faint whispers
of a forgotten age born out of fire and despair.
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Happy Holidays to you!