You are the rainfall and you are the thunder.
You are the stream and the rocks the water flows over.
You are my moon.
The light within my doom.
The comfort of my apartment’s rooms.
My tomb.
The creature of the black lagoon.
The thrill of a deadly swoon.
My Muse.
And I can’t stop thinking of you.
Just curled up among the warm, soft glow of candle light diffused by the release of demons. Peacefully flowing into the dark as the world that surrounds falls apart- in sync with the shattering of my heart.
Tragic Art.
At home inside my leather bound love, accompanied by the delicate, relentless destruction above.
Guilt and “whys”?
I’ve been awake for almost four days now and this was my facebook status a moment ago, before I realized that if any future employers were to read it, they might dismiss my application for this little excerpt alone. It’s filled with typos and grammatical mistakes, but I’m not about to edit this…
(Source: cronicax.tumblr.com )
English Mystery Solved - Except is to expel as accept is to approve.
Genius.
UselessSuperheroAbility#8: Redefining the English language. From every angle.
For my >next> piece,
a dark twist on #TheBirdsAndTheBees… & a #transparentwingedtease.
It’s amazing how much a word can grow. Usually beginning light, quickly becoming bold, and before you know it, you have a quote too large to hold… all from one - simple - stroke.
“I’m cashing in hope for three dollar bills and spending it all on empty promises, the faithful wishes that a thief will come clean in this life when he hasn’t in anyone else’s … and I’ll float on, in my limbo and think of the words that couldn’t save all of the dying races from the monster that very well could be this whole damn world.
“You’ve given me a match to light it on fire and the ambition of amphetamines. I already had the black blood to keep it ablaze. Just need a gun to ward off all those with an intent to save. But I know I’ll get up and pick up the pieces, just a conditioned slave of the empty promisers, and a long gone faith.”
-Excerpts from Felon’s Writings
The little details keep my spirits light.
On top of complexities, I prefer to fly,
Because for now, the big picture has me terrified,
Since I’ve woken up, I want it to all be justified!
It’s a hard thing to be: aware, yet still satisfied,
And no one to help, since I was lead by the blind-
And my foundation: built upon an ignorance bred lie.
I feel lonely and cheap. My heart breaks just a bit more with every beat… one day and my equilibrium is already off, from the reduce of speed, slowing down to delay the point where emotion and motion meets. I’m missing my man, but I’m afraid I’m the last person to whom he wants to speak since my panicky side decided to let all of my weak bleed out at his feet.
He’d probably rather run straight into a busy street at high noon than think of me every time he looks at the moon.
Bet he’ll stop reading this too…
Another dark whisper telling him things that are nothing new. Things with which he wants nothing to do.
And then there is I, trying to speak clearly, big girls don’t cry… just asking him to tell me why he broke tradition, replacing ‘See you later’ with ‘Bye’.
But instead, I can’t beg my desires to stand by, silently, so I’ll add a soft please after I gain the courage to say, shyly: “It won’t hurt to just… humor me, and spend some one on one time for a few. Even if it’s work we do… just talk to me like you actually want to? Can you play with your muse?”
As a little girl, I always thought the moon followed me wherever I’d go. I also thought it fell asleep when I did, though. At least that was what my 4 year old self was innocently told, and doctor after specialist said that there’s no harmless way to force my melatonin and seratonin to flow…
I’ll admit, it was also something I occasionally turned to later in life, when the late nights took a toll on my self confidence’s growth (more as a comforting blanket, a sweet simplicity not to believe, just to hold). It’s hard, when your brain makes it so hard to fit society’s strictly studied mold.
So, at a young age, the battle began.
It continued to wage— “What do we do?” “She’s not adjusting well.” That’s pretty much how the story goes.
I struggled… and I struggled… just so, every night, the moon could put on its show and it’s a thankless job, with silence that has long grown lonely and cold.
I wish my body was pressed up against yours… really could use some of your heat that my skin loves to absorb. But what for? There’s no point, knowing I’m cold to the core… which is why I think I may need more. I can’t trust emotions, they’re meant to deform exactly what I need to reform but that doesn’t mean I don’t want a companion, just one kind of out of the norm. A cloudless rain storm, leaving behind a maze of creations with freestyled form and can lay in bed with me, writing our own porn until its eachother, we adorn, and a sweet layer of sweat is worn as we sleep deep in the mourn-in.
Everytime I tried to explain, I only explained you away
Until you trailed off along with the words I’d say.
Nowadays, I realize how far I allowed myself to stray
And things have since changed.
Next time, I’ll get pleasure knowing you’re now MY prey.
How’s it feel, me causing your faith to rock and shake?
I consumed your synthetic hope, is your pain just as fake?
Go ahead, scream, tell me how it’s much too much to take.
(Source: tameyotendons)
The beauty of life is when you’re forced to make it ugly, so you just gotta throw your head back and laugh even when it isn’t funny, and recognize the rare moments you get lucky.
Stay hungry.
Rumor has it, she’s always near… forever craving another soul to hold close. Is it self control or lack of it, that holds her back?
What do you suppose?
I feel like a ghost… my voice is a barely there- a breath at most. Hittin’ rough waters when all I want to do is coast. Someone must have picked up my glass of life and used it to propose a drunken toast.
The angels tell me that it’s pointless to stay afloat when I’m just going to be swallowed whole, but then I have Satan’s helpers trying desperately to throw me a life boat. Promises of a warm blanket… even though all I see is a semi dry coat. So I’m just idlin’ here, treading every sharp edged tidal wave, about to start to choke.
Would you just allow water to flood on down your throat?
