An artists soul
It lives within and looks without.
Through our eyes, Our hearts, our minds.
The driving force of creation.
We seek to make the intangible real.
To evoke thought, to kindle emotion.
With the strokes of brush, pen and color.
With the Careful crafting of words.
Seeking to bring forth in tangible form
The untouchable fire that burns within.
From that fire we forge our worlds.
With words and pictures we bid all to enter.
To share in joy and sorrow.
To ride with good and evil.
To live .
To die.
In worlds beyond their lives.
We are guardians of uncountable doorways.
Look at a picture, And enter.
Read the first s
Peel away my lips
with yours,
maybe you'll find me
behind the movement
and the eye
in my sternum,
glowing with fated
flutters that touch
circulating light.
You like to pretend
that it didn't hurt,
when you tore my lungs
with a silver trowel
My pain is so pretty,
iconic, innovative;
my diaphragm
just a pulsing dragonfly
The light in my eyes
just something to squeeze,
pathetically gorgeous,
desperate need of disease
Stretch my vocal cords,
until I cannot utter, mutter,
make a sound, nor blither
but instead erotically wither
a flood, surging forward, drowning me. water washing into my lungs, asphyxiating any chance of survival. you were my cliche, my hero. you pulled me out, but i had already passed. my soul swam among the fishes and rolled with the waves that inhibited my house. you cried, tears only adding to the ocean inside these four walls. you don't know how few seconds late you were, i could be alive. i could have survived the tragedy of someone opening that door, letting the accursed wetness inside.
start over. she reaches for the doorknob, and something inside me clicks. i dash upstairs and grab a notebook, and dash out the back door, unnoticed. the flo
i do it because it angers you;
i love the way you cower over me,
eyes burning with rage.
i act afraid,
but i am proud.
proud of what i've done,
accepting my attention-starved actions.
i am filled with warmth
when you scream and hit me,
because i know you love me.
so call me a delinquent,
rip out my heart
because it already belongs to you.
only you, dear.
only when you beat me
do i feel i am loved.
the feel of your sweet palms against my face
remind me that i am not alone.
never leave me,
i would die without you and
your harsh words, cruel fists.
I could never imagine burying you
And mummifying never really counted
Selling you to science was too much pain
With grief my heart begins to shout
But I'm offered and option on what to do
"Creamate the body and keep the ashes"
I feel my tears may never mean anything
But my memories of you come in flashes
The first kiss you ever placed on my lips
The time you held on to my hand
Our walk on the moonlit beach
And making love on the sand
The day that you fell terminally ill
And to smile at me from the grasp of death
Telling me how much you loved me
As you took your dying breath
With those memories, my choice is clear
I wish
Guns never make jokes
When one can not
Define the perfect love
Nor
Paint the dotting faces
Of one in a crowd
Lit up like Christmas
Coppers rap
In truth
The only soul
Is solely alone
In solitary
Confinement.
-
Concrete and cold
Splits your hair
One can not
See any other
Than the lover
Already there
For by fear of
Luck, bad luck
You wake up today
And without
But still
You wake up
And the sun
Streams through the bars.
Winding through my head by PagesOfDreams, literature
Literature
Winding through my head
Ocean made of rain salt
and eye drop sullenness;
I'm falling into you,
filling you with glitter-balloons,
broken cartilage, missing teeth
and feet leaping over fences.
Kisses slip from my wrists
through my fingers.
I think
the gray pasty clouds stopped following me,
but I'm sure they will be back.
I think.
Every time I touch
my jaw another white pearl
with red paint slips across the
nerves of my hand
and I just panic.
I always try to put it back
and wonder if I should get braces,
just to save my smile.
I'm running, running, running
and the fences don't end.
Ao final da tarde, o miradouro torna-se o ponto de encontro dos namorados.
Alguns passeiam junto ao pequeno muro que os protege da enorme falésia que liga a terra ao mar. Outros observam o laranja fresco inundar o horizonte, enquanto os eternos amantes,o mar e o sol, se beijam, e outros imitam-nos, num dos pequenos bancos de madeira pintada que por ali há.
Junto ao muro do miradouro, por entre casais e corações flutuantes, destaca-se uma figura simples. Tão simples que passa facilmente despercebida no meio daquela multidão de caricias e beijos.
Observa com olhos de cristal o mar e o sol. Na sua face não &