August 2010
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four months is an awfully long time
when waiting for cold wings to drag my cracks
my shuttered stare somewhere sublime
and at t minus twenty gaze down into
the chasm of dark walls darker people
trussed up to shine
when looking into an abyss in shreds in tears
living in bags in things that could never love me back
so lost so tired so filled with fear
don’t ever tell anybody...
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hands will flail and heads will roll
in bitter descent in trembling low
misery of which stirs and spreads
past sallow souls and spins in threads
just stamp my head and rush me in already
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the sky is not much of anything in the late morning at the eleventh hour not a screen of luminous quality from which swathes of vermillion and mustard are hung not a blanket of latent sadness covering our masks and armored smiles but if i had to i would say it’s like a whitewashed expanse a blank canvas waiting to absorb our convictions on what happened to us when the sky did inflict its own...
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i’ve stopped running the phone is silent my macbook is sleeping my legs aren’t trembling and right now i’m tracing tracing these beautiful blue beads swirling round in trails of iridescence strung onto a bag of silk of fine thread spun in circles of intricacies of water yes pools of deep water except water isn’t this alluring with the tiny flecks of diamonds in the sun...
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There is a stone in my chest, and it hurts like hell. It knocks around like steel in a vintage painted pinball machine, like a bullet within lead walls, except I am still human inside. I have cells that are tired but still breathing, a brain which remains lucid while malaise and vessels that carry a rubescent running fluid both living and dead. But these too shall grow cold; the cells shall...
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zipbam asked: thanks so much for following my dear! :) <3
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It’s as if time had flung out its steadfast languidity, taken me by the edges both raw and sore and pushed me through this hollow shaft of blushing colors and people, people of the past, people in the dark, people with their own hollow shafts gaping through them, people who could laugh, a shaft that was made hollow to fill with things more spirited than its own somber steel… and...
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rachaelsrespite:
Hello April! I’m sitting right beside you. It’s moment like these that make my day special, viewing special videos too HAHAHAHAHA ;) I love you and nat very much! Gonna miss you loads when you leave for greener pastures heh heh. Can’t wait to dine with you and nat later!!! ^^
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I’m in the sicc lifestyle centre with pris and nat right now, bored from combing through the dactylic hexamenters of books five six and seven in the Iliad, and so I’m reading this article about Mark Twain instead.
I read the adventures of huckleberry finn when I was eight maybe, and then again at ten and tom sawyer once in between and it’s so true what malcolm jones says about...
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It rained heavily on the day we left. Last summer, we set off when the sun began to stir, the sky still deep plum, but the village already a cacophony of early shoppers and of crows squawking on the dusty streets. The surroundings, the air, and the lifestyle smelt of the earth, spices and of Ecuador, and the noise and heady scents struck distinctly from the grey silence of England and of...
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“There are people we treat wrong and later we’re prepared to treat other...”
– Curtis Sittenfeld, Prep
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“Among other things, you’ll find that you’re not the first person who...”
– J. D Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye
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