I was going to post some pictures. But I got distracted. Which caused me to lose that "umph" to get it done.
So now, I don't know what to do. I could do a number of things, but i think this is all i feel motivated to do at the moment...
Friday, November 28, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
Story revised and continued... Based off of a song
Your scent lingers on my skin. I'm helpless. Sitting on the edge of the bed you sing to me, your fingers brush the guitar strings. I watch. My eyes trace the guitar, your hands, your arms, your neck. They land on your lips where they linger before meeting up with your grey eyes. I wince, and find the bittersweet song slipping from my lips.
You stand up and edge closer, I curl up tighter. My body is rigid while yours moves with such fluidity that I am forced to close my eyes. I feel the heat of your body as you sit down next to me. I hear you lay the guitar down on the wooden floor, feel the bed shift as you lay down. I am consumed by you.
You have to know I saw it. The image is burned in my mind. And when I asked you where you had been, you told me your sister's, but we both know better. That pain. Oh what they say is true. So just try to ignore all the blood on the floor, it's just this heart on my sleeve that's bleeding.
And kiss her again, just to prove to me that you can. And I will sit here. And Burn in my Skin.
You stand up and edge closer, I curl up tighter. My body is rigid while yours moves with such fluidity that I am forced to close my eyes. I feel the heat of your body as you sit down next to me. I hear you lay the guitar down on the wooden floor, feel the bed shift as you lay down. I am consumed by you.
You have to know I saw it. The image is burned in my mind. And when I asked you where you had been, you told me your sister's, but we both know better. That pain. Oh what they say is true. So just try to ignore all the blood on the floor, it's just this heart on my sleeve that's bleeding.
And kiss her again, just to prove to me that you can. And I will sit here. And Burn in my Skin.
TSHIRT
I am screen-printing and selling tshirts C:
The name of the design is "Eve" (pictured above)
The name of the design is "Eve" (pictured above)
Eve shirts have two options:
-Mens/Unisex American Apparel Jersey tshirts in heather grey with black design on the front
*There is one, size small "grass green" shirt with black design
(looks good on both guys and girls so I couldn't be exclusive...)
-Women's fitted shirts in white with black design on the back
Pictures will be up tomorrow after I go into the printshop and get them all done after school
All shirts cost $26 each.
Let me know if you are interested!
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Your scent lingers on my skin. I'm helpless. Sitting on the edge of the bed you sing to me, your fingers brush the guitar strings. I watch, my eyes tracing the guitar, your hands, your arms, your neck. They land on your lips where they linger before meeting up with your grey eyes. I smile, the bittersweet song slips from my lips.
To be continued... when im not about to pass out from sleep deprivation.
To be continued... when im not about to pass out from sleep deprivation.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
I'm not quite sure...
If anybody actually reads this.
But I don't really care.
Here's a little thing i wrote about the little playset in my backyard.
Age old trees cast their shadows over the graying wood.
Winter’s chill seeps into bones.
Rusty metal chains cling to dirty blue plastic seats, a desperate last attempt to make amends. These swings once brought children such joy, but the deteriorated seats now hang limp and unused like last year’s Christmas doll discarded in July’s rain. They brush the ground. A memory forgotten.
The slide had been silver many years back, but covering it now is the brown-grey film from a decade of neglect. The adjacent ladder misses all but four of the original ten rungs, the space between them filled with the cries of children fallen victim to the splintering wood.
Up the ladder, vines swallow all that once flourished; their viral existence choking out delicate flowers. Their thorns pierce skin, needle points like syringes trickle out enchantment that makes time hold still. Lavender flowers. Asphyxiated buds. Youth inert.
These vines lose their grasp as the altitude increases, leaving only a handful that reach the platform. Many tea-parties with fairies and rendezvous with wood nymphs have left the wooden beams well worn. The scent of youth and Earl Grey still linger. The taste of sugar hangs in the air. Remnants of past festivities. Memories. Nostalgia.
Divinities have journeyed from Heaven and Hell to visit this small wooden structure, accompanied by figures of the past and their ghostly artifacts that litter the ground around the square base in a mid-winter snowfall. Eyelashes glisten with lust. Fingers itch with the bite of frost. Masters are too consumed by dreams of greatness and immortality; they neglect to pay any mind to the potential damage.
All who visit unearth the fountain of eternal youth, its springs flowing forth unlike anything of this world; ice chilling the individual who dared disturb its rest. Relief is found in the melancholy symphony of winter’s eternal residence in the wooden beams of the small swing-set with broken swings, a neglected slide, and memories that restore youth to any who seek it.
But I don't really care.
Here's a little thing i wrote about the little playset in my backyard.
Age old trees cast their shadows over the graying wood.
Winter’s chill seeps into bones.
Rusty metal chains cling to dirty blue plastic seats, a desperate last attempt to make amends. These swings once brought children such joy, but the deteriorated seats now hang limp and unused like last year’s Christmas doll discarded in July’s rain. They brush the ground. A memory forgotten.
The slide had been silver many years back, but covering it now is the brown-grey film from a decade of neglect. The adjacent ladder misses all but four of the original ten rungs, the space between them filled with the cries of children fallen victim to the splintering wood.
Up the ladder, vines swallow all that once flourished; their viral existence choking out delicate flowers. Their thorns pierce skin, needle points like syringes trickle out enchantment that makes time hold still. Lavender flowers. Asphyxiated buds. Youth inert.
These vines lose their grasp as the altitude increases, leaving only a handful that reach the platform. Many tea-parties with fairies and rendezvous with wood nymphs have left the wooden beams well worn. The scent of youth and Earl Grey still linger. The taste of sugar hangs in the air. Remnants of past festivities. Memories. Nostalgia.
Divinities have journeyed from Heaven and Hell to visit this small wooden structure, accompanied by figures of the past and their ghostly artifacts that litter the ground around the square base in a mid-winter snowfall. Eyelashes glisten with lust. Fingers itch with the bite of frost. Masters are too consumed by dreams of greatness and immortality; they neglect to pay any mind to the potential damage.
All who visit unearth the fountain of eternal youth, its springs flowing forth unlike anything of this world; ice chilling the individual who dared disturb its rest. Relief is found in the melancholy symphony of winter’s eternal residence in the wooden beams of the small swing-set with broken swings, a neglected slide, and memories that restore youth to any who seek it.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Walking in Comatose
I'm well aware of what they're doing to me. And I'm tired of trying to fight it. My morbid fantasies no longer hold the same excitement they once did. Demons all around taunt me with fierce war cries, calling me to join them. The hiss of their breathing fills my ears, and I'm on the floor with my hands covering my ears, screaming. Tears stream down my face and sting unseen scars deep inside. Then a change comes over me and I'm laughing, a wicked laugh that comes from some unknown place in my soul. I've never felt like this before. So out of control. So dark, so powerful. In my submission, I've gained such strength. I have become something fierce, something so beautiful in all its harshness. The freedom I once sought so ardently I've traded for yet another imprisonment. I'll drink the syrup and swallow the 20mg, so long as the numbness continues to cover the pain.
Props to Unknown Photographers...
I found these on friends' blogs and deviantart and in search of images of that dark fairytale type look. love it C:
So I'm really bored.
and was looking through old-ish but not really pictures.
here's a few favorites from a summer photo adventure...
here's a few favorites from a summer photo adventure...
Friday, August 22, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Some writing
the sun
warms
skin
soaks in the cancer.
i enjoy every moment of it.
flesh burns
and wind caresses
my neck
my back
my legs.
the sun gives me his smile
and the warmth of his kiss
lets me feel a hint of yours.
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