She absently plays with the stitches across her lips. Her eyes have more sky than sky. Laughter like wind chimes she holds out her hands to collect the rain hides all her light where nobody is allowed and I’ve walked past her a million times a million times.
Love is a sickness that I could live without. But your beauty is as compelling as Jupiter is large.
We abate softly into nothingness into finality into the darkness beneath a great empty canvas and so on this certain passing I felt almost touched and almost momentarily elated if you will from the brooding vacuous maelstrom that has become most days it was somewhat like catching the whisper of an echo in a backroom […]
There was this girl at school Quiet Melody was her name. She used to hide in her hair. Long and black it was like a raven’s back and she used it as a curtain so that nobody could see her. When people addressed her Melody would wave sheepishly distantly as though from another planet and […]
In the elevator I spotted an empress and I would priest for her, doctor her pains, soldier her wars; I would do many, mighty things all within the span of 30 seconds -then she was gone and things returned to as they were.
When you walk past flowers they awaken straighten open and tremble. They cannot bear the weight of the awe of your beauty and neither can I.
I will create something beautiful out of my pain. It’s me against the world and it’s war every day.