

a working titlehe kisses my mouth and my skin is in floods of morning dew and tearsa working title
ID

after you diedi.after you died
they asked me if there was something of yours that I wanted to keep I wanted to keep your eyelashes, your breath, your blood I said this, and they looked sad, said they meant did I want your
clothes and possessions, your things
I didn't know what I wanted cradling my head with my arms and quietly saying no over and over my mouth dry with the taste of morning sickness and old seawater
a month later, I wanted all your clothes I was scrub-faced and tired the yellow of the walls hurt my eyes, buried in wet to


The Things That I Know NowI didn't have a choice;The Things That I Know Now
white porcelain hard against my stomach, retching up clustered tears in my throat-- I was so stupid and useless, and there were so many things I didn't know, tiny and spattered with the kind of stain that only brutality makes. You said
You haven't got a choice and I just
nodded dumbly, blinking back searing vision, ignorant of the weight of what had just been said. These are the things that I know now;
The moon has a heart and it beats inside. I know this now. Pain will always taste the same,
no matter


summer gunthe heat pulse gun sling of summer,summer gun
washed and idled. the hand movements, tiny
laughs, mouth like a rat hole. your arms are
loaves of baked bread, your eyes wide like an
ocean fissure. dulling repeat, aching feet
the muse and amuse of a solar night.
and to come back to you, mouth open, crazy as the day you were born, to come back
to you pulling my hair and biting the skin between clavicle and collarbone. to come back to you
under all the stony brushes of our past, you become the anti-climax, the protagonist, the omnipotent
per


Ivysummer girl sugar-drunk off tomato- boy hearts stuffs sun undershirt and smilesIvy


Love is a Sketchlove is actually a sketch,Love is a Sketch
the underlying shape of the textured painting, not the painting itself
love is actually a skeleton
like the ones hidden in closets, giving you depth with structure
love is actually your hand,
not in mine, the shape, size, curvature, the act of waving goodbye
Odd Couple| We loved each other so much that sometimes it hurt, even when we were close. I wanted to be her and she wanted to be me. Sex never felt complete, and afterwards we talked carelessly about easy subjects to avoid discussing the ache that bruised us both. So one day, in the kitchen, she cut me and I cut her; gently, slowly, too easily. It was the knife we used for onions and our tears were painful but expectant. We dripped the blood into coffee mugs, then bandaged up and went to bed. We fucked and there were stars but we saw different constellations. |
such an amazing artist, i have
featured you in my 'featured deviant'
section next to my journal
....*ahem* thanks for the favourite.
--
"My little old man and I fell out;
I'll tell you what 'twas all about,--
I had money and he had none,
And that's the way the noise begun."
And all at once, the folly of youth spawned a creative spire.
Don't stop.
--
Tanta stultitia mortalium est.
What fools these mortals are.
--
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.
--
hello folks
--
i love you, said ophelia, and i love that dark bird you hold in your arms.
big sur
1958
x
--
love,lust and fairydust
x
click here if you like cookies!
HAIL BRITANNIA!!
--
"My little old man and I fell out;
I'll tell you what 'twas all about,--
I had money and he had none,
And that's the way the noise begun."
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