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Literature Text
I feel like my control is just slipping away...
but I guess control is just a false sense of security
There will always be some things
out of our control
no matter who we are, what we are
how much money we have, how physically strong we are. There will always be other variables
that we can't foresee or even fathom.
And that's the scariest part.
but I guess control is just a false sense of security
There will always be some things
out of our control
no matter who we are, what we are
how much money we have, how physically strong we are. There will always be other variables
that we can't foresee or even fathom.
And that's the scariest part.
Literature
Nocte
Hiding from the beast,
From tree to tree,
Running in the dark,
I tell myself such things,
Slow- so it won't find you,
Breath.
These fires have scorched far and wide,
Leaving the scent of my former cinders to linger in my head,
Like some bad bender,
Warped memories encircling grey,
The ground is made of shattered glass,
Broken dreams.
No lilies remain,
To any kingdom I run,
In mirrors of liquid glass,
Surrealist battles are won,
And like fear,
The spider crawled from my mouth.
They are sedating everything,
Brush pixilated,
Focus changing,
Leaving me to run in the dark,
Caught in the eye of the storm,
Hiding in the calm.
Literature
In the Syllable
...then there is a way in diswaiting.
Dust some yellow sand covers,
here uncover bare bedding.
...suffusing red planes, blushed dunes,
under incidentally quilted blanket
wet as arid curves, as sounds.
...in a persistent pavement,
in a solemn unsuited promise,
some written words erase
some letters drip and soak
unto a perfuse miracle,
a dislocated split,
a letting go of...
Literature
i.
Within blue eyes
anemone and starfish
abound, and seaweed eyelashes
move leisurely with the tides.
At sunset they sparkle,
lined with golden sand
and swirling without a sure direction,
becoming cloudy as a storm brews.
Beware, anger flashes across the surface,
where riptides catch the unwary
ships and sailors, wrecked
and broken amongst its depths.
Only the brave venture in,
attracted by the untameable,
roaring waves and sharp wind.
Eyes stinging, they enter the battle.
Slowly they themselves become blue,
the cold clinging to their skin,
sucking out all their warmth.
Then white as stone,
lips cracked and filled with salt
that leaves a bitter
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Just a quick little blurb I wrote in my journal... thought I would share.
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