

Seasonal Soundtrackkeep future kisses in your haunted mouth, love. let the thought of summer romance corrode the sultry songs threaded with silver lace to your tongue and lay those tired, gorgeous eyes to rest, if only for a while.Seasonal Soundtrack
don't mail me sullen letters written in your messy cursive and seeded with love, as a fetus. i can't carry that burden again. i can't raise our destined-for-doom love and watch helplessly, as slowly and vividly, it dies down. i won't bury our love alive just to drown out the "whys", not again.
keep future kisses in your flooded lungs, love. and don't let the mem


I'm Sick of the Word Desolatemeek means. thirst, and hunger, and lust. all we needed was the candlelight, darling. but you brought the rain, the thunder, all of it. it's cold. goosebumps rise on your skin like frozen beads of salt water. you smell just like the ocean. i haven't been in a while, but it's all about the sensation.I'm Sick of the Word Desolate
funny, i can never recognize the music that plays in the background it reminds me of hospital hallways; the silence, the cringe, the wait, the feeling of souls, coming in, leaving,
like birth, and then death. like the rise and the descend. the give and the take.
 


and now i can't breathei just dislodged my lungs trying to tell you i loved youand now i can't breathe
smoky air.

Cardiac Antithesishow do move against gravity up my body like the early sun? my skin is burnt, i collapse and build a solarium of bones, til we've heads like fireCardiac Antithesis
like morning, we're nomads with old bark in our knees yellow wood necks tearing roots apart in hazy succession
i feel we are made in a synthesized collision something like old metal parts we mix in a dirty red with a sound of broken buildings
the process continues and beneath depiction, you are the yellow all around me.
| "Take me, I am the drug; take me, I am hallucinogenic." -Salvador Dali |
[link]
I'm trying to build a network of installation artists.
Thanks again!
--
'She looked into his eyes and knew, with a mammalistic certainty, that the extremely rich were no longer even remotely human'
-William Gibson, Count Zero
--
"Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination."
--
"Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination."
Previous Page12Next Page