dust dust
golden
azure
rose tinted
sky
in the placement
of a wine
glass

cheeks
the blush
requires a flush
of liquer
preferably
whiskey to
disentangle and engage
me in serene disillusioned moments.

agreed? yes.

I had dreams shifting in and out of things like losing Faidzil, being pregnant, being alone, crying. Why do I dream about things that I think of every day anyway? I used to have amazing dreams. About Jeff Buckley and mediterranean beaches and a council of spiritual creatures who advice me on things, quote me beautiful things I've heard before in ( Read more... )

There is light ( Read more... )

you know that feeling of your heart being tossed in the air and then killed by a bayonet, yeah its called heartache and the way gravity works on my throat now, the desire to flood tears but the inability to do so. i havent felt this in a bit and every night, its like a ritual, my stomach crashes into my intestines. the worst thing is that even ( Read more... )

Strange days have found us. Days that smell of inhalants and paint thinner, compelling me to borrow James Joyce 'Poems and Exiles'. Tonight I was going to breakdown, but thank you Bjórk for being so fae. Her music's ability to hush me and punch me back into my system is amazing. I have his potrait by my desk, with him in some official uniform that ( Read more... )

When I take a look at my life without the aid of my dreaming and poetry, its rather lifeless, beating without blood, that sorta thing. We decided that we're both living a life of no life except each other. Sure, I'm young and in love and my drive is that one day I'm going to be fucking in the most beautiful hotel in Spain and photograph bullfights ( Read more... )

How freakily intense is someone's love for you that he feels like vomitting each time we argue, over some minute meaningless subject? Undertaking a boy so fragile is like putting a mirror in front of me, and staring helplessly at the girl I was two years ago. The one that cried, don't leave, don't leave or I'll die ( Read more... )

Fathers have this asshole quality about them that make daughters want to marry sooner.
Am I supposed to feel remorse for not being able to love my father? Because I can't quite care.

Morning consisted of travel and cooking shows, and feeling the wind run against my whole body, I like it when the wind blows, with the windows closed so it sounds like its wailing. I can't remember being happy with my life like this, not ever. Crossroads between 16 and 17 and its rather cookie sweet ( Read more... )

Things are on their way to being more beautiful and I'm ready to astral-trip with him in late october, november, december. I'm going to make a mixtape of jeff and suede and bjork's frosti and radiohead's punchdrunk lovesick singalong to play on loop whilst he snuggles his o so kissable mouth against my warm neck, getting up only for tea. Unplug all ( Read more... )