| These embody something I know... or something that fascinates me. |


abruptly.i can taste winter on my insides,abruptly.
soft and lush like mulberry frost in november...
we are spilling nonsense
from every orifice, nonsense, messy and noiseless, petals of our mauve sacrifice....
i am everything in my
own violet obscurity,
playing speechless mime with social flavors
and
swallowing down your
soft, earth scent like
an illegal fix, fingers trembling and mind full of ricocheting
memoirs.
our love was not messy, only a layered silhouette when held up to the light. we are


arterial photosynthesisThe world slips in and out of us, sliding over our skin at daybreak and noon and sunset, coating our throats with pantomime shapes. Follow the sensuous curve of sun cycles and the line of a universal torque and you are experiencing a life, set forth following the sun and the moon, playing like children and drawing china-painted faces on the things we don't understand.arterial photosynthesis
We tongue words like medicine, swallowing the valuable syllables like black pearls, and spewing sugar and acid like frivolous, multicolor, syllabic balloons. We eat ourselves into oblivion, gnawing away at the frontal lobe until it becomes the resistance, that beaut


diet.-diet.
have i lost weight? i check this often by counting bones, not by stepping on the scale; such is a death sentence.
i can read my spinal cord like braille, coccyx bone floating along, unannounced, but just as welcome
shoulder blades struggling, edges crumbling into the wings of a bird or a star tread on beneath december snow.
my ribcage protrudes further, like a dream, hipbone shaped like a thorn sinking into the bed
veins i never knew i had push forward like daffodils, spring's breath misting over windows, attempting to thaw a life co
| These embody something I know... or something that fascinates me. |
xo!
--
an antique arms and armor expert
--
Say hello to everything you've left behind. It's even more a part of your life now that you can't touch it. ~Ken Andrews-Failure~
--
'I promised myself somewhere in teenage life, I'll never submit to the words I'll not believe!'
--
We're the people, the happy with the broken hearts
The ones who draw a picture and proclaim that it's art.
Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.
self-promotion
--
We're the people, the happy with the broken hearts
The ones who draw a picture and proclaim that it's art.
Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.
self-promotion
--
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