Sta.sh
lamelamelame,
I'm a horrible artist,
but whatever.
Just look at the new poem.
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Day's Spent With You one.Day's Spent With You by ~HeavyHeartBlam
The days spent in my room, with your steady breathing beside me,
your hands tangled in my hair, and your mouth to my ear, whispering to me,
are the best i've ever had.
two.
When you're away form me,
I feel awkward, alone, out of sync,
with my limbs untangled from yours, my world feels off.
three.
I know i'm being reckless,
by keeping myself in this position.
On a narrow line, between loving you,
and leaving you,
all for my own s
unsent letter dearest hewhoshallnotbenamed,unsent letter by ~maniasdoor
the truth is, every single night i do clumsy pirouettes in my bedroom to your illegible handwriting, the poetry by you that i never got to read. i want to inhale you like stardust and bring you back to life whenever the tears gather on your long lashes as you remember the pain you experienced as a child. i want to burn your recollections like newspapers among firewood and help you to forget them.
[but only in a perfect world can that occur.]
the truth is, i like to wear diamonds around my neck and pretend that you gave them to me under the stars beneath your bedroom window, and kissed me tenderly and forgo
ten reasons why ten reasons whyten reasons why by ~SuddenlyAutumn
i can't write:
1.
i can't write because when i do i
take inefficient showers and get in
with all my clothes on and sit there
like an environmentalist on strike until
my jeans are soaked all the way through
2.
i can't write because
when i do i tell my cat, bonnie,
that her name is really beatrice and
that she is descended from a long
line of cat-queens and one day her
real family will come and claim her,
and that's really not very nice of me
to lie to her like that.
3.
i can't write because when i do i don't sleep
because there are all kinds of spitting
things waiting in the dark full of words
and
my heavy hands. like waves she fell, black ocean crashing on the mesh of a radio speakermy heavy hands. by ~fragmentare
that spoke all the words in the growling throat of a feral being with a one-attendant cage;
one side for shitting, the other for purging.
come with me, past those foaming jowls of a beast and into the salt
that sits just above the curve of your lip; my bowl for a pleasing supper
that fits just beneath my palate, reserved for the usual's (unusually so).
and to my surprise, through the infected swell of eyes and thick miasma of
plague-like theatre, we danced like the drunken fools on the old tyme commercials;
needless to say we are influenced by our very
Rain at night,Rain by ~RevolutionnaireRouge
we spit sentiments
like vomit. never do words mean
so little, so often.
on the outside it rains,
brushing through the windows
the wind howls with the water
senseless, meaningless.
we are not silent
at the only time when our mouths
should snap shut
we gape, wide
legs spread,
lips parted like the thirsty
begging for the rain.
we spout nonsense
like sand from sprinklers.
it doesn’t make sense.
it will never make
sense, something we’d given up on
like time, or ever finding
love, the cruel jester
the forbidden word.
Truly, it should be a curse
that we reprimand
when it falls from our
mouth
thanks for the
--
Can read about my f**cked up days at [link]
--
"While it seems sick, sober up quick, psycho lunatic.""
--
Can read about my f**cked up days at [link]
I'm going through a rough patch,
and any careing comment fro mpeople makes me happeh!!
--
I'm A Razor Slut,
To Write Love On Her Arms.
And...
Trust me, I know. When I was from the ages of 12-16, my mother and I fought ALL THE TIME. It's a very rough age to be. But believe it or not, it really could be worse. I speak from experience.
--
Can read about my f**cked up days at [link]
I just hate the yelling, and insults.
They make my tummy hurt.
--
I'm A Razor Slut,
To Write Love On Her Arms.
--
I'm A Razor Slut,
To Write Love On Her Arms.