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validityI am not beautiful,validity
because i am sitting with my head in my hands in the morning. There is a man who says he loves me, but doesn't. I ask if he is happy, and he tells me of street musicians and the biting November cold. I tell him to wear gloves, but he doesn't want to be like me.
I am not beautiful, because I am sitting alone in a kitchen crying over shallots. There is a man who used to love me,
but doesn't. He says he is unhappy. He says I could never look bad. He says he can never love me again because I cannot understand the concept, &
by ~Away-From-Me
to regreti wish it, but it is not enough. fuck me, so i'm sorry.to regret
i wish it, but it is not the truth. we kiss. i'm so sorry.
i wish it, but it was not the same as i felt when i felt.
i wished something. i do not remember. i poured it down
my throat with letters and the language of russia.
i wish that you would either hold me close, or lock me in a padded room
where i could never meet smiles and embarrassment,
and closeness where i should never be close to anyone but th
by ~Away-From-Me
remedies for diffidenceI have worn the daysremedies for diffidence
to tatters,
like choking
Victorian gowns.
Naked on clifftops, we're ready to jump, as whalebone ribs point warning
to wind, and rain,
and all that truly feel
moved by mere inclination.
I press my palm
to the sea,
my palm
to rainbow.
Clouds coagulate,
fresh friction burns bursting to
bloom,
on an orange night, as torrid as this.
I have worn the night to shreds, like rape-dress, like torn lettuce leaf
and bitten fingernail.
Like the
by ~Away-From-Me
the act of knowledgeOn one hand there is silver string that shimmers letters, and with reptile-smooth fingers a silver girl pulls it throughthe act of knowledge
shining snakes of hair. She arranges them on blue-silk sea, and turns with sharp, soverign eyes
and a sanctimonious, suffering smile.
On the other is a bloody stump, pounding on a scrawled stone wall. Remnants of the Cyrillic alphabet
depict lepers' fingers and a patchwork sketch of home. Rasping on dry earth, a crudely carved and wooden man gouges at his head to no avail.
by ~Away-From-Me
Favourites
Secret 16 - If You Told Me+Secret 16 - If You Told Me
He is already thinking of the beautiful ways that he could leave her. She is eating an apple. They are sitting in the park. He is thinking of leaving her as he gets on a train. He has no idea why he would be getting on a train, but the idea of it seems tragic and strange. Maybe someone is pulling her away from the tracks while he stares vacant eyed from the train window. Maybe these men want to harvest her organs, and they will, but there is nothing he can do about it. Maybe these men will rape her. This is good. She will re
by `queenhrosie
how to:being scared isn't at all like being nervous. it is opening the refrigerator door at three am, closing it. falling asleep and not realising you have woken up. wanting to disappear completely, and realise you could probably do it if you tried hard enough; making yourself stuck in your own mind. it is realising you could tell all your secrets to every soul in the world, and in the end it is still only you, sitting in that room and waiting. alone.how to:
everything becomes insignificant. any feelings you may have felt before. you don't even remember anymore why you were sprawled on the kitchen floor that night, drunk and crying. mumbling s
by ~vampire-zombie
For The People Who Have Called+For The People Who Have Called
The morning rides into me, bareback, leaves me open-mouthed and hiccuping. I drink a cup of coffee. I do not change out of my hip cheetah-print leggings until noon. I feel like a failure. I do not want to admit this to anyone, so I write a poem in which I say,
"I feel like I failure, but I could not tell anyone because being a failure is a delicious and
beautiful secret." I drink another cup of coffee
and I stand outside. The lilac bends into me,
I add liquor to my coffee, I moon
silently over the
by `queenhrosie
purge.1. my shoulder blades emerge: black veined white butterflypurge.
2. acid at back of my throat, an emerald i cannot shatter
3. i would like to send these scales to hell and back
4. this moon is bone white, she and i have so much in common, smiles faint
5. gag reflex the whole world glitters like a thin rainbow
6. goldfish memory, my thoughts like scoo
by *rottenpeeches
Devious Info
- Current Residence: cobblestoned Edinburgh
- Print preference: pretty please.
- Interests: everything, nothing, Bismarck.
- Favourite movie: Garden State, Mrs Doubtfire(!), The Steamie,Notting Hill
- Favourite band or musician: The Cure
- Favourite poet or writer: Muriel Spark, Douglas Adams, Sylvia Plath, Roger Hargreaves
- Operating System: Not today, thanks.
- MP3 player of choice: Barnaby I. Podsington. (yes, I named him)
- Shell of choice: Tortoise
- Wallpaper of choice: got painted over thanks.
- Favourite game: Favourites.
- Favourite gaming platform: the high one.
- Personal Quote: "Thank you for not being naked."
- Tools of the Trade: Fish, potatoes, an irritating mixture of apathy and utter idiocy.
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How are you? I hope that everything's good
I just wanted to thank you for the
Thanks,
- Omri
( `leoraigarath )
--
Some days I write those words, others they write me.
Is white a colour or a vegetable?
Green are the only wavelengths plants can’t absorb.
We see plants as green when they are not.
They are white.
Everything is obviously backward so instead of Vegetables = White, White = Vegetables
OK bye.
--
Ask me about barnacles, you won't regret it. (sometimes, it is what you've got, not just where you stick it.)
--
The world is an eraser for these words
- Jack Kerouac
we must destroy that which contains us
this one should work.
--
my gallery
--
Ask me about barnacles, you won't regret it. (sometimes, it is what you've got, not just where you stick it.)
--
my gallery
just want to pop in and let you know that you have been featured here.
--
my gallery
--
Hello world! I love you.
--
The world is an eraser for these words
- Jack Kerouac
we must destroy that which contains us
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