CLEANI shant be using that anymore as I no longer care for any of it.
I make no promises that this will contain anything of value to art whatsoever, but the chances are it'll do more so than my previous account.
Newest
The WriterHe furrows his brow. Concentrating. Trying to piece together the fragments of poetry frantic for release. Foetal metaphors and infant clauses bolt through his veins, forcing his ventricles into overdrive.The Writer
A heaviness inhabits his bones. Here it comes.
The nausea and confusion that hits with a blitz of camera flashes. Packs of possessed creatures desperately thrusting microphones. Like junkies and soldiers their eyes are crazed, Hungry.
Tossed back to 1961 it takes him a moment to remember: This isn’t the Bay of Pigs.
Open fire.
by ~birds-ATE-my-face
Your heart is a compassMolly fished her eyes out of her coffee cup to find the whole world split apart like an abandoned jigsaw puzzleYour heart is a compass
the laws of physics she was taught strictly governed everything around her (and then some) no longer mattered
direction was now determined by ethics and the road signs pointed right and wrong at angles she couldn’t twist her neck to see.
She boarded a train and planted herself in a seat that had her back to the destination
so she could stop for a moment
to see where she’d come from without having to care about wher
by ~birds-ATE-my-face
Dead Circuits.This house is a network of lifeless circuits, save for the dull refrigerator buzz that notifies the room of its existence whether you want it to or not.Dead Circuits.
Un-flipped switches are affixed to the walls with boredom and the same embers have been glowing on the fire for years since the gas and ignition have been divorced for quite some time.
But every time you visit, and flutter your fingertips over the wallpaper it gives the sensation of running hands over the static screen of a TV set -
proof that things that appear dead on the outside can still have life in them somewhere
by ~birds-ATE-my-face
Pure.Gloved hands clasp cups of coffee, the contents of which thaw our insides as if we’ve been dead all summer. I keep looking down at my feet, expecting to see puddlesPure.
from where the ice I’ve been preserved in since May
has melted, washing my lassitude away with it.
Smoke comes out our mouths as our breath collides with the air. Our insides are ablaze with contentment, smouldering our misgivings until they’re nothing but a charred mess.
It’s time to lift ourselves from the wreckage, brush the debris from our sleeves
and find something new. &nbs
by ~birds-ATE-my-face
Random Favourites
this is me.i'm the kind of girl who fumbles for things. i'm not accurate; i don't really think first. i plunge in, hands stretched out front, grasping numbly for anything - for a smile, for a glance,this is me.
by ~wecanlivelikethis
NeutralWaiting to cringe as you run those sharp fingers down the chalkboard that hangs above my bed. Yet that chalkboard is more of a mirror. A mirror that reflects the sound my heart makes when it gives way to your hands.Neutral
Another thousand words pass by and I sip my tea, too hot for gulping so you gulp me down instead and I feel
how it is to be not hot and not cold. Just neutral.
And I can't believe my eyes when I watch the film that is our lives. You drift off into the background, sad satisfied smirk on your sour face. Too young to know what real love feels
by ~IllogicalHarm
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Devious Info
- Favourite band or musician: Bright Eyes, Sufjan Stevens, Neutral Milk Hotel, Tom Waits...everything.
- Favourite artist: Mark Ryden, Dali, Trevor Brown
- Favourite poet or writer: The Beat's, Douglas Adams, Hunter S. Thompson, Lewis Carroll, Chuck Palahniuk, Sylvia Plath etc
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Then words lose their meaning.....
yourself
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My falling shape will draw a line, between the blue of sea and sky.
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My falling shape will draw a line, between the blue of sea and sky.
*dances like a fool*
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Hope you had a good one!
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Then words lose their meaning.....
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