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SubscriptionsSites I Read
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| I watch your soul lift in some inspiring attempt to understand grace, and it isn't even morning yet, you still leave its beauty misinterpreted. I wonder why in hell you left the comfort of your body in the first place
Iv waited all night crammed in mine, Daring to reveal its softness.
And I remember when sunrise was nothing more than something pretty to look at. Before an angel spoke the shapeless aspect of god, throwing shadows to highlight what I denied. I know heaven held us long enough to lose interest. & we question redemption, getting lost in the shape of the sun.
lost in the repetition, redundant circles.
I pace the closest skyline for those hot shades to burnagainst. Wash myself in heavenly bodies & find the fire to burn me pure, when we cut the dawn.
despite the rays
day comes in small answers something easy to believe
The language of birds & wind gods playing dead in my hair. | | |
| She is the sweet, pinkmint swirls once crocheted to mimic the sunrise one lazy day in her bedroom
where she attempted to weave herself into the pattern
and busted the creation altogether. Her innocence tries the unprotected nature of a human heart,
a telltale weight shifting dramatically under her oversized shirt, a distracting thievery of charm. She balances my bright
and you would never guess beneath the shadow of her hoodie,
an unborn galaxy 5 stars removed from the sun. | | |
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These clocks are beautiful. hanging open, like the red ringed moon of a womans mouth begging for a good fuck; risking all your stars for a hard luck you can touch. Call it a fetish. or nerves.
I found quiet holiness in parking meters. measuring time undetectable as god and i'm caught in an act of obsession. caught up in the clock and witnessing addiction midstroke. believing with an untrained eye the glance of a superstitious moon when things go to be
so suddenchange. you take your time. i take my chances. rolling dice in the cheapest corners of my mind when i remember the promise i made
when you asked to evoke a change.
these scientific saints, searching the sky for some reaction.
some testament that the numbers were right and add up to that night you dreamed up a prediction.
but i'm caught.
i let them tick tocks stop that clocks expired i'm trapped. undetectable as god.
and i'm saying my prayers. they roll like dice.
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| "Sirens are ringing in my head
Banging in the club like they banging in my bed
I need a light this song is dynamite
Cos' when we step inside this will take flight
Lip gloss shinning, Stars are blinding
Pocket full of girls and its off with the timing...
We shinning, It's blinding,
I'm in love with these Disco Sirens. "
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| Starting with my skin, there is a hidden grace in self-destruction. I'll rip to shreds. sheet by sheet thin layers fray with sensation. im bleeding all over myself, and whats underneath is flattering. yet, the tissue takes time to seperate. i hum sweet hippie songs in my head, taring fresh meat from skinny bones. its lovlier than imagined, slashed wounds uncovering parts that remain till today inhuman. im finding the organic truths tangled in veins, distracting my soul with things more surrounding than body, with breathtaking shapes i manipulate to canopy whats been stripped and feed my soulhungry. escape is rubbing salt on the infection. who can save me faster than i can shed myself? | | |
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