My skiesI rest, breathless On an icy metal swing and carefully place My handsMy skies
So numb, and I can not unfold my elegant fingers On the rust of a chain.
I muster a heave
And I become: pendulum. Higher and higher now… My old black rebellious Yet breathtakingly common sneakers Peak above my head and Beyond them lays the orange sky… A purple cotton ball is blotting At the wound of our Sun.
Further up my legs, now A rainbow of cotton
Up to my knees, but slide down With each swing, and kick.
These socks lead to shorts Tattered
mirage
inversed
depression, cutting, blood, death, drugs, overdose, darkness, etc etc etc into your 'keywords' area.
because you will never even GUESS at the amount of idiots that frequent deviantart.
gods, but do excuse me. am feeling rather vinidictive at the moment.
--
He thrusts his fists into the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts
like your calligraphy and your photos. Enjoy.
Esoron
--
Life is a jouney, and if all of life is a stage, then it is better to know the actors populating it.
Pyrokinesis!
--
i can never find the right words to say...
c-chan
-E.
--
"It doesn't mean a bloody thing. It just sounds nice."
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