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intricately-ordinary

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Justifications and Salted Smiles

"I don't think I'm holding on any longer I'm diving in. I wish that you would see, there's a magical land at the bottom of the ocean where waterproof lungs let you be everything you've dreamed. You can bury underneath the sand and not be found- it's the land that's been promised to me in late night whispers and burnt tears wasted on things that don't matter. I know it's real, broken minds can't lie and I can feel it in my bones- there's something more. What other reasons would we live for? They say you inhale saltwater and exhale enlightenment. The waves pour over you and finally make you clean (pure) No one knows where y

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he's just not that into you

long-legged and twitching like the spiders you watch run down the drain, he doesn’t call you pretty. you remember his hands tracing the ink of your veins, but he doesn’t call you pretty. he doesn’t hold the door, and you think you’re a liar but the truth is quivering naked in your voice (we will name our children after extinct kingdoms; dead beautiful things. i will polish the dull spot in your eye that you developed after a terminal case of unnoticed living. i will never be a cure but damn it if i won’t be a diagnosis) the static of his vocal chords brings you back, martyr without a cause, he doesn&rs

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Your Name's My Best Obscenity

The sweetest curses are sugar on lips If I died this evening, you'd find your name aflame- the words I last shouted in vain lingering on my tongue like a toxic kiss- revenge is addicting, venomous pain, even spent on cries I know are mundane No fixing up this unholiest tryst, forged by two fools who believed in their lies; or maybe it was I, eager for light even in spite of the flaws I had seen Can light be fake? Were your twinkling eyes a mere disguise to make me ignite? Aflame, in vain, impure light fuels my screams

lupus-astra

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Witch Oil

There's magma boiling in her frostbitten veins; incandescent pixie dust and soot-stained stars, sluggishly making its way through a childish heart — wishing for one last chance to spread her wings and soar to Neverland.

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these catastrophic disasters

There is a storm inside her chest; a miasma of thundering insecurities and flashes of despair. The irony is, she has astraphobia—but inside her mismatched veins there lies a tempest awaiting to be set free. The most beautiful people have the ugliest of scars, and hers just happen to be a hurricane of chaotic doubt marring the insides of her soul.

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''The dead have feelings, too.''

"Aria." Though I am still reeling from our previous argument, I force down my pride and turn my head to face where Darien's voice is coming from. I'm sure my cheeks are flushed with rage, yet I constrain the cluster of spiteful and venomous words that are still dripping on the tip of my tongue. Darien's form comes into view--the rage from just minutes before must have made him lose his corporeal appearance--and instantly his eyes meet mine. They are still somewhat cloudy with anger, but as we stare down one another in silence, I see that anger slowly change into something more or less acceptance. He sighs, running a hand through his shaggy

spoems

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windstorms and labwork

afflatus, inflatus, my morning globe, as lithe as your impermanence. and home! dread homes! are rabbit dugs, spoonholed piles of mexican brick where nothing ever touches down, nothing here alive receives the plains’ poor offering of gypsy light, the ugly wind that meets the mudline. [metaphors] 1. a mottled fence 2. and how these storms hold faceless teeth that slat their eyes through butter-wood then purge their guts on wintered florets 4. some freshly headless nativities, their polyethylene skirts upturned from violent sacks 5. and knowing i’m a souless speck i lick at what is manifest beneath your

Literature

the shut-in

where are these keyholes to the Equinox? the stars huddle like alien nettle, a gray chime of wrens scaling tree limbs and middays, jittery fruit; Darwin has no lines for me to speak of. i've sheetrocked the blistering ivies and blossoms. i've glassed out daubers and frightening mollusks pillowing through mud honey and minute old ruins. intimate with my quiet desk, my paper hoard i'm still a coward; the envelopes, Obama glass, the dozen unused spiral diaries are menacing concoctions, minotaurs of lost dimensions. i used to sleep in creek-beds.

Literature

dead

1. i hear these words and something happens in the yard; it doesn't fit a poem or planet. i see it squeeze into the slits beneath your shirt. i feel it fly the smooth of you from off your back. it turns and hides behind the acres, stock frontiers of jagged rooftops, kept far and safe and free of me. 2. the squirrel has left the limb as light would leave a photograph. i’m staring into its absence and some new kind of animal is made; one where only its reversal is alive. it doesn't move or breathe. the park is wintered over, and i don’t go. the poppies are all gone. and when they do come back, they never chan

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Literature

Idle Hands Without Any Plans

Idle Hands Without Any Plans What a way to waste a day, Watching your own flesh decay, How divine, as you may find, Getting lost in your own mind, If I may share, you're quite the pair, That is, you and your despair, This routine, even unseen, Is constant and unfailing, (but) Not to fear, just rest my dear, Tomorrow is another year.

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to the boy who doesn't plan on leaving

how much of me can you swallow, love before you finally purge? I am a cartographer of bad experiences; I can locate precisely where I see our divergence extraordinaire and I can tell you before I have even met you that the skin on my hands is too dry for the softness you plan on caressing me with. let me tell you how this ends; I will show you all the people I have destroyed - flooded to the best of my ignorance, driven wild with jealousy, had whipped with lust and left smoking pot after four promises stating otherwise. let me tell you how this ends; after showing you the blessed catastrophe it is to be human, you will destroy me. you may

Literature

free bird

it’s a need to feel the suns golden fingers teasing figure eights along my back, & the wind on my cheeks. i must have been a bird in some past life, a swallow or a hummingbird. because, i swear on some nights i can feel the growing pains of an atlas ready to burst through my skin like wings. i just want to be free.

poetry

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the aftermath

the temple of her body was torn open tonight, desecrated and lit on fire. i swear, gods have burned and felt less pain than i do as i write these words down, because she’s crying in my bathroom right now and i have to go and convince her that the handful of feathers i have left in my palms could ever equal the wings he snipped off of her tonight. she will never fly again. she will never believe so wholly in herself again. her body is no longer a temple, her body is a landmine, an open wound, a thousand foot drop off of a bridge, a stranger to her. she will never again be able to trust her body, to know her body. this is not the first p

Literature

Sands and Tide

The tide is pulling, pulling away, I have no way to make it stay; The sand is falling, falling through time, I have no way to make it mine. The gulls are flying, flying away Chanting music day by day; The waves are pounding, pounding on, And so they shall when I have gone. But here I am with a sky above, A mind of dreams and a heart of love; Forget the sand, forget the tide, The water's vast and shoreline wide. I'm scooping sea-foam, catching shells, Wading depths to feel waves swell, Building castles in the spray And laughing when they're swept away. Yes, taunt me, time, go right ahead! Strive to buffet me with dread; You know where I ma

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Night creature

Please don’t leave the light on I don’t like the way it shines Don’t want to see my wounds and bruises Let me forget them for tonight

Literature and Typography

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Literature

A little bit of you

A little bit of you: You give a little bit of you everywhere, When you look at someone, When you share, When you enjoy , Being with that someone. You're special, Like everyone, But each one his own way. You're clumsy, That's your trademark, That makes you lovely, We always have to look out for you. Did you cut yourself? Did you forget your food? Did you bring your head? Did you trip on your own feet? The list is endless, But each time you hurt yourself, You give a little bit of you, To someone that healed you, To someone that helped you, To someone that caught you when you were falling. You might be clumsy, You might b

Wed Pix 3 - 5

DarkGoddessK

Published: Jan 26, 2009

26 Views

Description

Happy daddy. The old coot behaved for the whole thing. *teehee*

Image size

3504x2336px 3.16 MB

Make

Canon

Model

Canon EOS 20D

Shutter Speed

1/60 second

Aperture

F/9.0

Focal Length

36 mm

ISO Speed

800

Date Taken

Jan 3, 2009, 3:57:28 PM

Comments2

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vaia

Jan 26, 2009

Very sweet

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