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Too Late for Summer...and I can still feel your breath upon me, lingering there like the morning daze of fog, just hanging there, unintentional bliss, invisible ornaments of the unspoken kind, the frigid air filling my lungs to capacity, as I walk down some forgotten path, unknowingly tracing your footsteps as strangers pass me by and the likes of you are unseen.Too Late for Summer
The three A.M. orchestra is rehearsing its sweet song for those who listen, the rolling hum of the fridge, giving one last crescendo before sleep, we’re all tucked into our beds, the overture was played a lo
by ~cravingwanderlust
Breaking of BreadThe dark and longing feelings- pour across me, like over-ripened milk down the surface of a chalk-board. The black abyss of forgotten words swallowing it up. That fiend of a Hell-mouth, guzzling it down. I will choose to celebrate my downfall; my uncontrolled spiraling into the depths of Hell; and I might just think I’ll be seeing you there. I’ll take my sweet Communion, do a shot of over-sweetened bliss and tell you that I am blessed to be your judge. I have lost my home, do you care if I settle here for a bit. Come and break bread with me. Come and breakBreaking of Bread
by ~cravingwanderlust
Shot by ShotAs the worms consume the remains of this tired body, where I lie there and bleed, watching as my heart is ripped from my chest. Laughing as I bleed across a kitchen floor with a tether ‘round my neck. The rush of the flood escaping me; seeping out of every pore, along the milkiest of skin that I have to offer.Shot by Shot
If love is a burden; a game that must be entertained, where instinct keeps one alive, I will dream as shot by shot you take me down to the darkest of dark soil. Where I cannot escape the arrows along the reaches of my flesh. The game is the dear that we forget. Hea
by ~cravingwanderlust
proximityThere’s no one else to turn out the lights. No familiar smell to the linens across my bed. A bed that seems colossal in size, a giant continent for me to lay and explore alone. No legs tangled in the fields of cotton, no more small talk when the feelings of sleep begin. I miss that familiar smell of proximity to another. It is like throwing a rope to hold me in place for a moment in time. The scent of another filtering through my head. Where everything seems so much easier,proximity
because I wasn't alone any longer. The familiar landscape
by ~cravingwanderlust
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: North Carolina
- Interests: music, preservation of the subjunctive, poetry, fine art, coffee talks with best friends
- Favourite movie: Dancer in the Dark
- Favourite band or musician: Bjork
- Favourite genre of music: Music shouldn't have boundaries
- Favourite artist: M/M
- Favourite poet or writer: E.E. Cummings
- Favourite photographer: Nick Knight
- Operating System: OSX
- MP3 player of choice: iPod Classic
- Skin of choice: white... it's what I was born with
- Favourite game: tick-tack-toe
- AIM: ebc0118@mac.com
- Yahoo: ebc0118
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"Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines."
--Ronnie Shakes
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~Chiamata-alle-Arti
~SpaghettiAndFriends
Considerate la vostra semenza:
fatti non foste a viver come bruti,
ma per seguir virtute e canoscenza.
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What you can do, or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it. __Goethe
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"i ated the purple berries..."
-Ralphy W.
"But I'm so small I can barely be seen, how can this great love be inside of me?"
look at your eyes!
they're small in size
but they see enormous things!
-Aaron Weiss
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- the character of art is human kindness -
take a look at my gallery -> [link]
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