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it all started with sally haley eight years ago i was different, i had never been loved, i had never witnessed my grey tabby moan and contract as her kittens breathed their first ounce of oxygen, and i thought that art was simply something you colored in a 20-cent coloring book. my father would've said that i was exclusively extroverted, and even a touch of arrogance would appear on the most unlikely of days.
it intensified in myself to paint. i had seen sally haley's paintings when my best friend's neighbor had been in his teenage art phase, (he had side bangs and blonde streaks that embellished his hair) and i loved the curve of her strokes, i could taste the individual fur of the brush as it paved the canvas, and i wanted to indulge and satiate in the hues.
in school, algebra and geometry nauseated me, and the triangles and squares that i scribbled howled and bellowed at me, taunting me and declaring under their breath, "you're stupid and unintelligent, why are you so afraid of numbers? you're weak, dif
withdrawlthe crystal sand
was methamphetamine in my
luring yet nonchalant
daydreams of you
like an alacritous kaleidoscope in
primitive aegisshe was laying primitively,
head in her drenched palms,
face blotched crimson and speckled
her crisp jeans were
tainted from my
i shouldn't have bathed
in the tattered midnight light
( cleanse me. )
i kneeled in front
(i am lower than her
in this moment-
she outstretched her
fingers like an agrestic
duck's webbed foot,
my fingers scavenged for her cheekbones
and she told me she
you are forgiven,
as my child,
as your mother.
blood flickered from
the tips of her ginger
and she uttered slick and
spilling like saliva from
her painted lips,
she was my tabby catlurking recollections
of tossled moonbeams
were the patterns that radiated
her crescent skin.
she arched her back,
(like a yawning cat on a milky
and felt the rhythmic
spine as it
whiskey and wiresmy ribbed throat
you were its
your rustling tongue
was amber whiskey,
red and blue,
rebirthher eyes were pale
in her pupils,
i told her
when i reached
desperationi spluttered her name,
frothed from my whimpering lips,
i couldn't remind her
that the speckled bruises like
spine were healing and fading,
like the meek summer rain
but the trace of her curved fingernails
my silent lips
on the wrinkled couch
modern lolitahe had these charcoal eyes that left a trail of ash behind them, and i wanted to re-ignite them to watch them transform into light fire and burn into my pale flesh.
his accent was loose and boyish and from new zealand, and he reminded me of the carefree dancing palm trees i used to drive by in my silver toyota.
i was fifteen when he asked me if he could speak to me, and i spoke as a hushed whisper, only if your intentions are well. and he was older and had this long consistent stream of black hair down to his shoulders, and i thought about how sensual hair was, how it was limp and chaotic and got caught in between our lips when we flashed our teeth.
when the sun rose on monday he told me he thought i was beautiful, and i snorted and slapped him with my vivid sailor tongue, telling him that i was young and he was beyond my years.
his eyes were gruff and wounded, why didn't you tell me you were fifteen? i shook my head and choked for air, but i was underwater now and th
shut your eyes tighti.
are swerving and
shrieking in their
and afraid of your
the foaming ocean
spitting and sloshing,
its whole body rotating
it rises on its heavy
in their sunset
Drowning in this AddicitonI tried to drown out your voice
Inside the lies, I made my choice
With my lips against the bottle
I tried to swallow the memories
I put the speed of my destruction
In complete full throttle
I brought this about, a self induction
Laying here drowning in my worries.
Just laying here in my corruption.
I could whisper to you my series of sorrows,
Instead I'll just lay here in my low,
Or I could borrow another bottle
Of sweet nectar and fire
As my blood acquires
The song of a liar.
Brittle and bare,
Lay me to rest on the wave
Aware I am this may be my early grave
with a kiss to my Jackie D.
Like a whisper to the noose waiting
For me under the elm tree
as I am aching for another bottle
Of sweet nectar and fire
As I try to rejoice
I think I finally have forgotten your voice.
chasing uphill warsover time we have - overthrown time
and in becoming its ruler can see
of dark clouds above the delta
skies aurum and gun-metal gray
in the demonstrable distance
and sights of dis-in-teg-ra-tion
are felt savagely slowing
their innocuous prey
senescence will plan her revenge
like an animal held
out over a ledge by its ankles
for a taste of its own skin
life in the exospherethere's a plague upon the cattle
but they can see
well beyond hermetically sealed skies
above savagely conquered revenge
tinctures of light and darkness
on the warm midnight horizon
where many things are learned
and many things are lost
chasing worms uphill and being
consumed by their debris
know heretofore as
a temporal causality
curfew urgencya calamine itch of faith
with the wrong enzyme in the right coincidence
far from our former
jigsaw made for sadists
and burgeoned forth a neon beacon
built by bedlam hominids
germane in our inertia painting
perfect arcs through space
a life expressed by movement
through non-newtonian fluid (s)
the pristine math
left by those we have replaced
A walkno wings no fire
a blue song for you to smile at
and the abyssal space for you in my chest
all we need - a walk
Blank. I don't remember how long it's been,
Since I stepped inside the room.
My mind is blank.
I don't know what i'm doing,
As the cold water drips down my bare back.
Trailing over old scars and new,
Sending a shiver down my back.
My mind is blank.
Indecisive, I sit upon the floor,
Staring towards the tiled wall in front of me.
What am I doing?
Where am I?
Am I even trying? It wouldn't matter anyway.
But that was the question, what am I even trying to do?
I am blank.
Particles rearrange, and the water grows warmer,
And for a small second it traces along the scars, leaving a stinging sensation,
on it's gravity maneuvered journey to the ground.
But once it hits
visigothsin the hyperbolic ether
we've a history of failing at history
our thoughts through the eyes
of discontent fish and dreamnt beasts
neon fresh from a mongrel's ripe nightmare
this interstice world discovered
made ingenious by sleep
and the beacons it keeps [in]
...the laboratory skies screaming circles
poor directionsit's a drug
addicts so high
waking each day
crawling for miles
for a drop on their tongues
a sweet sound in their ears
a tainted air in their lungs
retreat to faith
when you run out
let's be brutally honest
it's another excuse
a desperate delusion
you've lost your reason
you've lost your dreams
you've lost your way
are you so empty?
are you so blind?
are you so weak?
with a promise of forgiveness
you can be as immoral as you need
it's okay to rape and to kill, God'll forgive
are you out of your fucking mind?
you're excused for crimes
because you prayed tonight?
how do you live in these lies?
has your need for answers
led you completely astray?
on old sanzu - absolutely true fictionlast fall i stole my friend down by the tama river. we sang. we danced. we skipped dead fish like rocks and watched them get swallowed by the undertow. we got sick off of bad chinese food and went skinny-dipping and then a week later she drowned herself.
her uncle was a yakuza, i think, but he really just wanted to be al pacino or something. anyway, she loved him a lot. maybe that’s why she went down the way she went down; cement shoes. not real cement, but it was the same idea. she had two cloth bags with yellow-painted cinderblocks inside, and they were tied to her ankles like the prisoners’ chains from o brother where art thou.
in my mind’s eye i can see her, limping dreadfully close to the edge of the current, her left hand gripping at her breasts through a loose t-shirt. kneeling by the wastelands, elbows in the gravel, crawling forward out into the water. angry like a dermis under wool, all teeth and salt and sand. sleepy, submissive, sublimated.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More