as the liquid percolates from etiolated skin a jaded past awakens the soul battered bruised tormented and empty painted hallucinations delicately cry out we surrender our shameful secrets to these bare walls as the shadows gather to say their final goodbye
southern night, her aromatic limbs lay softly under blossoming skies, behold her tragic and still burning declaration, as she lays her voluptuous breast heaves, carousels of rich wind-swept songs within the gentle toss of her hair, open eyes watching until she slips into the shadows of morning.
demons find me in the darkness of each night they comfort me kissing my scars suffocating I beg for more letting them wrap me up within their hands I whisper my pain to them begging them to keep my secrets safe within these walls
it's that time of night, when there is almost a complete silence, other than the screeches of foxes, or the occasional cat fight, and the clanking whirring of my ancient laptop, which was forged at the beginning of time, surprised it hasn't got a starting handle to crank it up, it's original owner was a vicar (which i mentioned before, and joked that the 3 most worn letters were DOG!) ! think i may need a cranking handle for myself one day (not a euphemism, nor a euphonium come to that, although an...
She came back looking for unbroken, the most innocent of hearts. The nightfall queen of cursed longing is stalking you through your dreams. She makes up tales about sweet love and whispers it into your ears. Please give her nothing, this is false hope, crawling up into your mind, 'cuz empty heart will give you nothing, but it will keep you safe from harm.
The roar of noise of a car engine, a yellow streetlight, a red-light, a cyan led, a chubby and tired body walking around a gas station. The silence is the jingling of the turn signal, the dreamcatcher’s there, hung on the door, the entrance of a too illuminated bar. The Pacific Ocean is a beast that bites and roars, the baritone voice of an old opera singer, so much voice from that diaphragm bent by the solemnity of those steel notes. Turn on the radio, Los Angeles still doesn’t know this song. Moon is a muse to one thousand...
Sitting in the darkness makes me feel at home. I don't know why but that's where I belong. I listen to music and read my favorite poems in the darkness in my room because that's where I belong. I take walks in the night with out a hint of light because I love the darkness it's where I belong. It makes me feel safe, it makes me feel colm I love it in the darkness. It's where I belong.