Rising from the dead.
TiredSo. Back in Kansas, got a job. On and off inspiration and. Well. I'm considering taking all my different pseudonyms and just finally conglomerating them all together into one. Problem is, I have certain attachments to the ones I have, and...I don't know. I'll figure it out. It's not really that important.
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It Won't Feel Like DeathHer legs all crack the sky where they touchIt Won't Feel Like Death
spindled stories come floating out, not harsh, never harsh but drowning, winding around the throat tighter until we can’t quite breathe until pulses race against our skin and all the blood comes rushing, rushing up
And she is any color in the world you would have her be -
Poison-green and dappled like late summer, heavy, thick legs united body that you won’t ever feel Her teeth will lash and you’ll never know until her web bruises blacken and the threads snap close
She can be noth
by ~DespondentDream
NeurosisHer tongue collapses over vowels like a fighter pilot struggling in the backlash of war (and she’s losing altitude and the earth is rising, she’s not fallingNeurosis
don’t you understand? she says It’s all coming up to her)
There aren’t hands to hold back her hair when she vomits I can see her reflection in the mirror but I don’t linger. There is no compassion here.
Under the roof spiders spin like nettled mothers and we pass through their art like glass The cuts ache for hours and my fingers don’t stop trembling it ra
by ~DespondentDream
ScrutinyShe thinks the eyes of philosophers are on her and so throws her head back like a nervous tic, wary for them. She wants to look her best.Scrutiny
And leaves kicked up make her look back the wind teases her, and she casts out her thoughts like a child’s fishing line - she has neither the patience nor skill to reel in more than weeds.
It’s a sickness of her heart. Without a defined status quo she is simply a torn leaf in high winds, catching in girls’ hair, passed over with disdain.
She’s so sure Aristotle is studying her but her skirts alwa
by ~DespondentDream
Question EverythingMorning births with lipstick smears over black and we touch down gleaming over fields doused in gray A streak of tar breaks farmland and urban homes and, silent we take a farmer’s wares to pieces Our hands are apologetic, weaving divine The air cools the sweat on the back of our necks as our hearts trickle downQuestion Everything
We feed the crops in ways nature cannot And maybe it’s the shameless way with which we gorge them that truly guides down the clouds which stream and connect to the mountains who shy away from the sun, shielded by deep drifts of snow. Maybe we are gods. &
by ~DespondentDream
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: A trashcan near you.
- Interests: Writing, drawing
- Favourite movie: Moulin Rouge
- Favourite band or musician: Muse
- Favourite genre of music: Rock, Classical, Jazz
- Favourite poet or writer: Barbara Kingsolver
- Operating System: Windows Vista D:
- Personal Quote: The truth is always stranger than fiction.
- Tools of the Trade: Pencil, Black/Red Pen, Paper, Microsoft Word
- Email: obijunkie@gmail.com
- AIM: informalspoofer
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"Toki... Hanatsu!"
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Once you can accept the universe as matter expanding into nothing that is something, wearing stripes with plaid becomes easy.
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lykewtfyo?
now i will commence to plan my escape.
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I tell you such fine music awaits in the shadows of the fires of hell. -Charles Bukowski
Now you can buy my book here!--------->>> [link]
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Sally Jupiter at the =Gunga-Diner
Co-Founder: =ScaryAtton
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I suppose this is me slowly dying,
smearing myself against you, against the words I write,
leaving little bits like bright red Christmas presents,
moist and smelling like old iron artillery.
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Blind Summer Fish Portfolio~
Stalk me on LJ 8D
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