Currently Untitled She was scared. Not of monsters, murderers, or those super-bugs that she had heard of on the evening news. She was not frightened by the prospect of disease, rape, or suicide. No. She was terrified of loss. Of leaving everything she had ever had behind, and starting new. More than that; she was scared of losing her. When even the thought crossed her mind, her hands would clam up and her toes would grow cold. The hair on the back of her neck would stand on end; even her face would scrunch up into a two-year-old’s scowl. Whenever the time came when it seemed nearly inevitable, her stomach would lurCurrently Untitled
AugustShe was cheap like August; subtly miserable, and a decadent cheater. What was there to go on but her self-righteous wars against herself in the super markets (God forbid she ate anything chicken; she would collapse like the showy towers of tinned lentils) and decaying nail polish that spread across her toes like a crimson disease. She was pretentious like her mother, and an addict like her father. Not to drugs, booze, or sex; she was as virginal as the white walls that surrounded her. The clenching, gnawing pain of guilt, anxiety, and raw passion were the addictions that truly gripped her fancy.August
WitheredPressed between the confines of ink and paper Wilted, withered; willingly sacrificed Plucked from the rich soil, only to find her end Her scarlet petals have bled their colors Leaving only a faint tinge of what used to beWithered
Held onto for decoration; for a reminder Her dried out flesh---- superficially beautiful A keepsake she has become, never to see the light of day Nor have the dew drops kiss her cheeks She stays forever, now, in her literary prison Stuck between the pages until she is remembered Brought out like an heirloom, and gazed upon by her captor
Rainbows and Paper BoxesThey rise from paper boxes Smoldering pastels and finger paints Aflame with the essence of fabricated romanceRainbows and Paper Boxes
Silken rainbows flowing through a gold-plated sky Insane and conniving are the clouds that chase The sun- A distant purple blotch on the senile heavens Catching our dreams in plastic bags Crumpled into rainbow-flavored dust Forever expanding Our thoughts in the wind Our love- Dead
Ahhh!
Suggestive
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Can you feel it?
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Why am I so amazing? XD
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Can you feel it?
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Can you feel it?
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" Whatever. Like you have an ass." Marilyn Manson
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Can you feel it?
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" Whatever. Like you have an ass." Marilyn Manson
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