Sunless
New member
- Joined
- Nov 21, 2009
- Messages
- 46
- MBTI Type
- INxx
O' tempest is up again and then, within my darklit eye, I am dreaming I spun you around by the hand. You are escaping with me as far as the scenery goes?
Always alone. When shaped like this, the heart is heaven-hued: hiding in the seam of solar systems, embracing. All space is leaning in to get a scent of you. It is dangerous outside as well as in. Magic for the chosen few. Confused as well as clarified. Unknown. A pixel in your T.V. Screen. Give me the truth and I will show you how you lie. Give me lies and I will know your self.
As far as the skin can stretch are islands, tan children, and laughter. where toes design your whereabouts and eyes are fields departing (great lengths). Deceptive. How steady the spin is.
This place is baubled with victory. Successes of democracy. Lingering stinkingly. Our commitment is to christmas trees and history. Unloved by those we chain to us. However, I am satisfied. A comforting selfishness mingles with my sweat. Terror confounds my every cell. Aghast, a blast, it's daytime when the eyelid grows. And ghastly when the dripping slows. Writing poetry on fingernails will never pass the time away. It's griefly coldley lonely living. Beneath the ice and soundless fissures. I am a drag in too tight clothing watching windows fill with frost. A crack will form. Belief responds. Outside where the worms all hide. Holes become your fingers in earth. Sky-blue and cherry-red: windy resplendent.
Never an average mind in winter. Adorn your golden tongues with mouse traps and children's stories. Give gravy to the singing birds to shut them up and focus on your diaphragm or hold your nose in effigy to mom-ma. Screaming savage litanies at her deaf god: we forever shadow.
O! holy countenance. Help me fry an egg. Your omnipotent machinations can't fit in our stomachs. I fear starvation will be the only answer to our prayers. Or perhaps we are praying for starvation to deliver us from comfort. To lead us into the stone bed of our passions. Lying amidst the ruins. Defeated and drooling. A dead dog bringing a leash along.
Sad hours closer than a day away what makes it so? Have we no ligaments left in our souls? Are we to never bend again beneath the sway of our indifference? Give up your tombstones! There is rot enough in our quick pace. And forlorn too. The ratio of eyes to eyes.
Always alone. When shaped like this, the heart is heaven-hued: hiding in the seam of solar systems, embracing. All space is leaning in to get a scent of you. It is dangerous outside as well as in. Magic for the chosen few. Confused as well as clarified. Unknown. A pixel in your T.V. Screen. Give me the truth and I will show you how you lie. Give me lies and I will know your self.
As far as the skin can stretch are islands, tan children, and laughter. where toes design your whereabouts and eyes are fields departing (great lengths). Deceptive. How steady the spin is.
This place is baubled with victory. Successes of democracy. Lingering stinkingly. Our commitment is to christmas trees and history. Unloved by those we chain to us. However, I am satisfied. A comforting selfishness mingles with my sweat. Terror confounds my every cell. Aghast, a blast, it's daytime when the eyelid grows. And ghastly when the dripping slows. Writing poetry on fingernails will never pass the time away. It's griefly coldley lonely living. Beneath the ice and soundless fissures. I am a drag in too tight clothing watching windows fill with frost. A crack will form. Belief responds. Outside where the worms all hide. Holes become your fingers in earth. Sky-blue and cherry-red: windy resplendent.
Never an average mind in winter. Adorn your golden tongues with mouse traps and children's stories. Give gravy to the singing birds to shut them up and focus on your diaphragm or hold your nose in effigy to mom-ma. Screaming savage litanies at her deaf god: we forever shadow.
O! holy countenance. Help me fry an egg. Your omnipotent machinations can't fit in our stomachs. I fear starvation will be the only answer to our prayers. Or perhaps we are praying for starvation to deliver us from comfort. To lead us into the stone bed of our passions. Lying amidst the ruins. Defeated and drooling. A dead dog bringing a leash along.
Sad hours closer than a day away what makes it so? Have we no ligaments left in our souls? Are we to never bend again beneath the sway of our indifference? Give up your tombstones! There is rot enough in our quick pace. And forlorn too. The ratio of eyes to eyes.
