inkstained skin:.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

you're so close,
you can count,
each ebony eyelash,
and make wishes,
as your breath fans my face softly.

wish, wish, wish,
for me.

~~(god knows, i wish for you with every part of me,~~

~~not just my,~~

~~eyes.)~~

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Share your thoughts; they're bright lines of light in the dust and dark. Be kind to my mistakes and remember that my words are free and not meant to offend, so yours shouldn't be either.

heartb e a t s

[pulvis et umbra sumus.]

the s t a r s, the m o o n, they have all blown out; you left me in the d a r k.

no d a w n, no d a y, i'm always in this twilight, in this shadow of your h e a r t.

and in the dark, i can hear your heart b e a t; i tried to find the sound.

but then, it s t o pped and i was in the darkness so darkness i became.

-: cosmic love; florence and the machine

--i'm living somewhere between the plane of reality and the shadows of illusions. spill, spill, spill the ink and the words across the pages because it's better than letting it rot it in my heart like tar and shadows and tendrils of toxic fog.

it's these moments--these freezeframed forevers in my mind's eye -- that make up humanity and sometimes, sometimes we forget that in our grey-sky, grey-horizon, grey-footpath lives.

and, i figure, it's better to write all these words and similes and metaphors and errant thoughts, better to [ground] them than to let them fade a w a y and r i p and t e a r on napkins and bits of scrap paper and skin.

Amore, more, ore, re.

(latin sounds cool)

i write because all these words need to go somewhere and he needs to be remembered. Human life is so transient and effervescent, flickering like candles, and he will burn forever.

Yet do they worst old Time; despite thy wrong,

My love shall in my verse ever live young.

- W. Shakespeare; Sonnet 19

inkstained skin:.

written in the stars

Thursday, March 3, 2011

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