Newest
ghost in her machine.i.ghost in her machine.
his inkblots look like dead bodies or
the diagrammes of sandcastles.
ii.
there is something painfully sterile about
the way she dreams in black and white
of rugged coastlines and breathing saltwater.
"go on," the doctor says, though she
hasn't said anything yet. she tells him
about how her one true love tastes like
mint, and he smiles and nods, nods and
smiles, pretends to note it on his clipboard.
iii
she doesn't want to be labeled
as a system error.
iv
she has
by ~Dibujando
your hands are my religion.i.your hands are my religion.
before him, i never believed in a higher power or catharsis or purity or forgiveness, and truth be told, i still don't believe in many of those things but i sure as hell believe in being held, being loved.
with him, the closest i could get to a belief or a prayer would be a stifled "oh god-" cut off by his lips, quick and certain, destroying any faith before it could even begin.
after him, i would lie in bed and shake and wish that i could believe in something larger than myself, larger than the sky or a star or how his thumb brushed against my ear
by ~Dibujando
Thank You, Slater.Listen:Thank You, Slater.
I used to go to the nearby campus coffee shop in the early evenings, armed with a pen, a blank notebook, and writer's block. The sense of loneliness was unspoken but well accounted for.
I always shared coffee-counterspace with the same boy, who never smiled or talked and who had a penchant for bedhead and argyle sweaters. He liked to lean back on his stool, balancing precariously as he read novels, and I liked to pretend I wasn't watching him watch me. We coexisted in quiet companionship, thrived quietly under fluorescent lighting which sometimes caught his thick-framed glasses.
His novels change
by ~Dibujando
just an ID.by ~Dibujando
Random Favourites
Contemporary Mornings...w/ a boatContemporary Mornings
I white cloudscapes in the attic: my eyes roamed the fluff easily, blinking away the gaze of sun
morning one was moist and long, like a marathon; it stretched
over your lips, left light behind on your mouth that was next found on mine, because of a kiss
morning two: the ocean jumped!
mornings month-three were all open craters, colors erupted and disrupted --if i think of thorns will i prick my finger?
mornings month-four were scolded for ta
by ~spanishrubi
THREE DAYS FROM NOWfor Daniela Jara's 20th birthday on 6.21.04THREE DAYS FROM NOW
three days from now she will rise up to the playground of angels fighter jets and zeppelins burst open the door translate her body into an equation of one–hundred twenty pounds moving nine–point–eight meters per second per second and tumble from heaven because she wants to taste the sky on her birthday
this is the part of the poem where I should drop metaphors about falling in love with her or how she's already fallen from heaven once or something about shooting stars or glass ceilings
by ~foxthepoet
DaySomething's in the water and it's making people not make any sense.Day
To me it seems like every time I turn around there's a brand new king and queen sitting on a throne of luck or fate or skill or
whatever they claim to use to butter their toast in the morning.
Some things aren't so magical that they deserve a beautiful analogy
like a bullshit mural in a circular room I'm getting dizzy just looking for a way out.
I remember someone telling me that they've examined both &nbs
by ~StormCloudMao
i have a new account.
BlissdeviantID
Devious Info
- Interests: the hopelessly bourgeois and cartwheels.
- Favourite poet or writer: vonnegut.
- Tools of the Trade: catastrophes and astronauts.
- Email: IAteCanada@gmail.com
- AIM: kidnapadinosaur
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--
Do you believe in Rock'n'Roll
and can music save your mortal soul
and can you teach me how to dance real slow....
Sorry if that' weird.
D:
[link]
I hope you like it.
--
please stop by sometime
[link]
youarerighthereyouhavetakenthespaceoutofmywords
--
She has no heart but she dreams in old fashioned ways. - K.W.
I didn't think I would ever find your old account.
Well, hello,
beautiful.
--
make a map of what you see; direct pain effectively.
--
"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."
thanks.
--
<caveatLECTOR>and jon beat me to uranus LOLOLOL
<concrete-surfer> your mom depreciates in value as she's traded
<intangebility> o man. pink is singing sweet dreams on tv atm, and madeline says "string trees are made of peas?"
-R
--
Ryan "El Zorrito"
--
If God's the game that you're playing well we must get more aquatinted because it has to be so lonely to be the only one who's holly. You don't deserve a point of view if the only thing you see is you
Next time u point a finger i'll point u to the mirror
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