... |
it's funny how people forget to look at people the way they look at themselveswe are all selfishwhen you realise that about the human race you can begin to put that aside making an effort to give to a...
Posted by on Wed, 08 Apr 2009 20:21:00 GMT |
overwhelm |
Honestly, i feel like driving but not like we do in these parts with the window fogged with pot smoke or rather the breath of a young girl. i'm tired of digging myself into a hole, deeper everyt...
Posted by on Tue, 16 Dec 2008 01:05:00 GMT |
oh just a friend |
"Do you think I'll ever find someone to love?"
"I think so.." he said as he flicked a crumb from the leather seat.
It could have been gold how it gleamed from the light fondling it's every corner
But...
Posted by on Sun, 01 Jun 2008 22:23:00 GMT |
spring |
It seems that flowers are the only beings that rejoice in spring. I slipped on a dress red and white dress with the blossoms sweet passion, making my way to your home licking lips divine with pollen ...
Posted by on Sun, 01 Jun 2008 22:17:00 GMT |
in my dreams |
with a smile as warm as the alcohol that seeps sickening into my body. he holds my smile like a basket of eggs and tears at my inhibitions as burning fall leaves. he is not afraid of the emptiness in ...
Posted by on Sun, 01 Jun 2008 22:16:00 GMT |
heather |
For some stupid reason I couldn't keep my eyes off of her fingers.
The way they bent and swung between the light off all the bright eyes wondering at her open mouth
Spilling words they could never tr...
Posted by on Sun, 01 Jun 2008 22:13:00 GMT |
im leaving |
you can always tell when it’s too early. fine dust and ice sweeps on every grease oiled corner of old trucks shakeing down the road, sleeps sand settles in the eyes of the driver remembering a t...
Posted by on Wed, 26 Mar 2008 20:54:00 GMT |
in watermelon sugar. |
it's the strangest feeling i have ever known. it keeps eyes watered glassy emotions at bay in fog. mist. mustard whiskers on wise brimmed eyes. feathers light, short laced blinds. a book that opens ti...
Posted by on Thu, 21 Feb 2008 21:59:00 GMT |
art is what i am made for. |
She looked at me with eyes like gun shots to the head. Through crossed arms rested on slender thighs she wept with discarded tears. The smell of licorice vines dreamy with caterpillar hunting evanesc...
Posted by on Wed, 20 Feb 2008 15:06:00 GMT |
