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and now i'm static.
in the past six years, seven kids who live in my hometown have died (we could make it eight and count my friend's brother but then things start to get complicated). two were girls, five were boys. four of the deaths were suicides. im not one-hundred percent positive, but i believe the remaining three were caused by alcohol and/or drugs. of the non- ( Read more... ) -
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a lot of you still have me added as a friend here, so in case you missed it, i have moved to toatree but will not be deleting voidedd. befriend me if you'd like. -
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hello, how are you? -
hide my head, i wanna drown my sorrow
"'Love is like a wind stirring the grass beneath trees on a black night,' he said. 'You must not try to make love definite. It is the divine accident of life. If you try to be definite and sure about it and to live beneath the trees, where soft night winds blow, the long hot day of disappointment comes swiftly and the gritty dust from passing ( Read more... ) -
bonaire pictures
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
"Dreams" by Langston Hughes
( bon bini + ) -
the human crowd doesnt mean shit to a tree.
leaving my room for the first time in twelve hours, i was completely caught off guard by the low flying clouds of the night. they were well hidden under the cloak of the starless black sky, and made noticeable only by the blurred horizon. the lack of clarity in the night was unnerving. lately indecision and passivity have been plaguing my mind, and ( Read more... ) -
its the time of the season for loving.
today i saw a girl with hair the color of the brightest leaf on an autumn orange tree. i noticed the strands of burnt orange mingled with a more natural brown, much like the branches that weave in and out of a mass of dying leaves. she walked fast, scuffing her feet as she sliced through the cold winter air, but she left a fading trail of light ( Read more... ) -
two zig zags.
and i know i am growing up not because i am nineteen going on twenty, but because the smell of cigarettes no longer makes me sick. and as i stand by my window, a creeping silhouette distorted by parallel lines, i watch the glowing ends of 27s burn a path from outstretched fingertips to lips and down to rest by the hips. a trail of smoke is left ( Read more... )
