-
I am.
If I am her,
then who are you? -
Towers (abbreviated fiction, early 2007)
The delicate pounding of the rain against the window pane calms my nerves slightly, setting a precedent for the rhythm my heartbeat should follow - slow, but persistent. And then you walk into the foyer, and all hope for my heart’s calmed beating is lost. Our bed sheets are wrapped messily around your smooth, inked hips and your dark hair sticks up ( Read more... ) -
Delusion (2-9-08)
You are everything ( Read more... ) -
Thrown.
I want to write a book ( Read more... ) -
!!!
Straight edge, or pothead.
Strict vegan, or carnivore.
Show-goer, or homebody.
Sexpot, or prude.
Why does it feel like I have to choose one thing to be anything? -
Fossils.
Like skin on bone,
elegance in the summertime.
Rivulets, rivers, canals of uncertainty.
An earthquake to open,
a shiver to shut.
Ink smooth to paper,
fingers ghost against skin.
Lips pressed to temples full of thoughts.
Indecision, repercussions, lust.
I am awake, I am alone, yet I am alive. -
Divination.
A daintily crafted white teacup, cracked barely an inch at the base.
It sits mere seconds away from ruin;
its saucer teetering off the edge of the nightstand.
Surely the china ware can't push itself over the edge...
Will it be your palms that send it clambering to the hardwood?
Will it be his fingertips getting sliced by the shards? -
Possibly, I'm probably a prophet.
I should have known it all along; my dreams have always been a tell-all.
Our story couldn't have ended any other way.
We were always meant to be a tragedy. -
I am a jerk.
I had a dream that you were my story. The story. The 'Romeo and Juliet' to my Shakespeare.
But I still don't know how to write it. Maybe I should make use of that analogy; I'll steal all of my plots! I'd sure be recognizable, I suppose.
But I wouldn't be who I've always been - nobody.
I don't know if I would be able to cope as a somebody. -
An attempt to tip the scales.
11-15-05 ( Read more... )