February 2012
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the tale of johnny
abstractethic:
Again, his abyssal eyes swept over the shores of the lake, his vision kissing the limestone always hoping—never doubting —to kiss not the smooth pebbles but a face of white marble with the ever-so-carefully etched features of the ethereal Aphrodite. How she would wade through the gelatinous mists, with only her flowing locks of brunette fluttering into his wistful eyesight. If...
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artreture:
And when the happiest Wallpaper of days Seem too perfect Along comes a mug Full of bitter coffee And pseudo-omniscient Crimson curtains Choosing the roles Of happy boulders And dark hills, Taking over pastel Truth and tale Wallow over wonder
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C.
I can never be well, but you take away many symptoms. I do not question what you are doing, instead stand in awe. Too good to think about what comes next or what just came to pass only the here. Only the now, as precious as it is, is what needs to be contemplated or observed. My own pestilence abolished, confidence not built but reinforced. You ask nothing, I ask nothing. Being what and who we are...
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X-ray of an Ex-god
manuscriptsandbourbon:
Hooked boy, the Auroras witness your wolves. Maiden, Mother and Crone spy the contours That were taken in handfuls, In bagfuls hanging on your hook.
Detour. Like so, I was treated; No more than a sacrificial umbra your cronies overbooked. This was your playbook, wasn’t it? On your way to Pure Sky, I was a detour.
Good purist, you sold me cures. I bought a fantasy, a...
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loqui:
They hold me to my word And force me face down on the pavement
Eyes see a world I’d never considered Those insects make it look so easy Got it all figured out All planned ahead
I got a boot on my face Plastic grips in my cheek Weight on my cheekbone Blood, grit in my mouth Swallowed teeth and pride Choked up and spat Between the cracks A river running wild
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1/2/12
Well
There have been too many questions
open ended situations
filling in blanks
playing detective
when the city is burning
when blanched snowflakes should fall
it makes benign yearning
not avoidable at all
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forget about me
i-think-this-is-what-life-is:
your words brought it back,
the way i am reminded of my father
on the anniversary of his death,
when my mother cries until her face turns red
and she can’t breathe anymore.
the moment they found me,
when everything was blurry,
fading in and out under the dim bathroom lights,
and i lay in an ocean of blood,
no remaining stamina.
your words had brought...
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memories
girl-goes-derp:
We used to spend weekends getting high and staying up until the sun came to visit us. With red and baggy eyes, we’d crawl under the covers just to repeat it until the week began. Saturday was the best (or maybe the worst to someone else). We’d wake up at noon, pack a bowl, and scavenge for food.
Often, we were broke, but somehow, we always had weed. I think, at some point,...
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Ready
artreture:
Skipping in time With the warmth Of these new socks The verge of a sun Unravels with A sudden word; I feel the skids Of a naughty tire Getting away Into the undone Into the waste Of every thought This is sweet This is blood I just found Our words; I’m more than ready This is my death To enter your Caffeine-induced Pop song of a Love story
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Conversations With My Therapist.
After flipping through my Moleskine.
Therapist: You remind me of Sylvia Plath...
Me: Oh thanks - a lot actually.
Therapist: ...because you always sound dangerously close sticking your head in the oven.
Me: We have electric.
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“Go forward, be brave, and keep the faith.”
– Ryan Adams (via rubberrings)
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Dear god.
agentlewoman:
I am such a hopeless romantic.
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paintmesecure:
We could search with our palms and only glimpse at the tangible reasons of material. I wandered with the curiosity of a yearning heart and grasped the joys of falling and standing.
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Barrel Jumping (A Man Of Letters) //...
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The Other Side of Hope
secretedsins:
I’ve often heard it said that hope may set you free. Should hope be well founded, that’s something I can see.
But, just as hope might save, its loss might strike a blow, especially for one unused to its warm glow.
While constant, bitter pain drones on without refrain, the senses become dull, and it can be contained,—
A man bereft of hope, though wretched, thus...
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thegirlsoul:
sometimes a poet can be allergic to his own verses…
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Me, Myself and I.
theseloosethreads:
I sit on the stair, while I contrast and compare, Me, Myself, and I.
Me who is here, Myself who is there, and I, who is just the other guy.
Me is all quiet, Myself is a riot, and I try to pay them no mind.
They never agree; I can’t even see the destruction that they leave behind.
I swears he is blind, he wants to rewind and try to set things right.
But he’s scared of...
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Chameleon
artreture:
Lonely was the chameleon As he mastered every colour Of every rock, leaf, twig He ventured towards the wind That mislead him; he wept He was lonely for a cloud That would dance for him Before the night tries to Steal his sane skin of scale He lay as he watched the stars Dressed in their best spark The nearby pool called out A message he deconstructed, “don’t feel great...