Twirl me devilish
Frenzied, dizzying
Feel me fainting
Unburnt by fire
Exhale my smokey
Desperate breath
Fingers burning
Guarded flesh

Twirl me faster
Whirling grand
Falling, crawling
Too fucked to stand

Gravel tripping
skin my knee
I'm reaching out
I'm falling free.

s

Lost, absolute and confounded
crown-adorned conquistador
silver-stained satellite
you age and age and age

"It's all lost." she admitted, illuminating the faintest trace of some original dignity stirring around her still. This, only moments from the warm breeze which would blow through her hair and take with it that last untraceable puff of her brush with greatness. Again, a stillborn destiny. What a collection of them she's amassed. "Then again, don't ( Read more... )

Sandra Botticelli - Primavera 1482 ( Read more... )

I cast my pearls before counterfeit cornflowers. Blue, and exploding. Twice before, we've fallen off this cliff, crashed this car. You're a silent partner in this relationship, the ghost writer of my suicide note. Liar, and manipulator. Twice before we've sunk into eachother and twice before we've risen as decay and froth. Bubbling upwards with the ( Read more... )

It's not the kind of cold that hangs in the air. Sure, some familiar wind is blowing calmly, but this winds touch is soft and warm. No, this is the only kind of chill I have felt in a long time. This cold rises as smoke from my insides, it slithers from my ears and wraps itself around me like a python. It doesn't want to strangle me or swallow me ( Read more... )

I live my life through the company I keep. Those around me are my mirror, what they notice is who I am. I define my reality by what I share with them. I am nothing when I am alone. I am nothing when no one remembers me. My thoughts are nothing unless spoken to another ( Read more... )

I fear my only true talent lies in the art of depravity. One ability I will never truly exercise. I can envision becoming what I suppress. Envision the cataclysmic self-destruction I would inevitably experience, even deserve, and the subtle remorse I might wonder if I felt. I can imagine it. I can mourn it's repression. But I can never live it, ( Read more... )