The gray matter that is in-between
The gray matter that has always been in the spaces we, you have tried to fill.
It goes numb. The pins and needles are starting to set in; this mishap I have construed is the glamour, which was never really there. Excuses to be this dirty, to roll around in filth and get away with calling this beauty. When in rooms filled with smoke, bodies rubbing against bodies, inhaling your surrounding, with one glance to the side, anyone would jump. We played electrical darts, back and forth, between our eyes, and I'm finding out every second, no currency exists. No electrons I thought were in the air, as if looking at
If I were shot into oblivion, I would not realize the difference in the stars.
Winter is my season of dead space. Of cold hearts, & emotions that come to the surface for no reason, nothing is apparent that is rational in the snow.
There Is this dead horse in the middle of the room, its organs & guts spilling out, like warm wine, or cold blood, or the way I don't even feel about you. No one knows, or asks, or mentions a thing because what if it's all apart of the decorations.
I'm slipping into winter; please find some way to numb me. I don't want to be this torn apart girl in anyone's eyes. I can't ask for help to mend these seams. Sutures
Nails that can sink so deep, that ultimately the piercing of our hands against this wood, blossoming with splinters, is ever so the wintering pestilence of our demise. When He rose up, again and again and again, screaming scraps of scribbles on every bit of parchment paper, I held his hand.
"I`m still roaring red", she said. "This heat & complexity, I just can not palpate!". The anatomy of every glimpse of light she would study. All the cracks that slip in view, was hers for the taking. Those eyes sunken into his face asked, "Do you think you can change this? Do you think these black holes will ever go away?"… These ice sculptures keep melting, & freezing, over & over again into different forms of puddles, & retracting molecules. She made sure to keep all her dreams a secret.
a harmful drug is love by pneumonectomy, literature
Literature
a harmful drug is love
Something called for better days; in their own minds they knew this was ok. The hearts had all been mended, torn apart, and then frayed. She noticed ravens sitting on corners, and street lights every block she passed by, the seconds moved, teaching her what it means to dig your own grave, or let wings become lies. Inside she felt the bugs, the disease they carried, infecting every limb, or nerve, or the blood flowing to her heart, that she would never let go. "Its just the eyes" she wrote, "no I mean the skin", she tried to convince herself of other ways. Knowing she was selfish, wanting all that she could have. Tightly wrapped around her fin
When we dine, when we have conversations between our teeth. These screaming squabbles that go on between my ears, inner-workings I`m trying to work out, you surface everything, then it comes out. The left, and the right of my nose, lay my eyes, this is where the patterns, the pieces of you come together, a visual of two people that make my pores open the size of boats struggling across the ocean. The pink elephant, the one that belongs to me, a pet that sits between my arms, it rests inside my chest. I cannot help this disgust with myself, with the poor screaming naive bird that sits on the left side of my arm. I`ll unroll my skin, to the mus
One species, the greatness by pneumonectomy, literature
Literature
One species, the greatness
Her fingers could ware away, from all the biting and loving, the nails are short, and so pink they shine. Crooked fingers, crooked thoughts, this mishap of feelings are drawing you pictures, painting you lies that she could never confirm. We are like birds, little parakeets, or falcons. A phoenix. She flew thru the air, watching two species. Peck, peck, and peck. Belonging to one, loathing in great secrecy, loving the other, knowing its touch. He flew away, she understood. The trail of unfinished thoughts, left like a stone that's dropped. Don't you understand? Do you realize this urgency for us to be held? One species, the greatness, bring h
I am a trashy tightrope walker. Never seeing the objects in view, I look around. I overwhelm you with my gazes. I am superior, a gentle feather that's only apart of something bigger.
A girl at your fingertips, but not a your lips. Too young to scrutinize under your microscope, a failure of science, a goddess at heart. A goddess that you would jump at any chance to construe. Step back small boy, that's all you are. Forget your sciences, your laws. Let me feed your heart with reckless lies, soothing images of a goddess in white.
You've been taken off my wall instructor. You instructed me of the stars, the destination of the constellations in a great deal of expectations. The art of loving for no reason at all, paper cups, paper planes, paper sail boats riding the plains of every ocean, every land mine growing from my skull. I blacked out, drugged from a sip of your devastation, reading your mind is stressful, restful, let me rest. Curled up in flowerbeds, vines wrapping and strangling, squishing every vein before it pops. Imagine us naked in fields of beehives, arms entangled, protecting, or raping, or exploring my insides with sharp instruments and textbooks. I told
I am now a photography major, so I thought I should update this with what I am working on. I dont promise anything good because this is my first time using digital and color as a medium, so Its going to take a little getting used to. But I am very excited.