The fireworks of vanity in their hearts, breaks the waltz of boredom.
In the womb of sin, the neon of Shangri-La, the bottomless swamp is filled with broken dreams.
Evil tongues, black as night, spreading laughter and lies through wind and demise.
Three dead moons at the the end of the dream. A women of power from darkness revealed.
Hello there,
Hope you are well today.
I don’t normally do this, this being writing a response to something which was not a question or otherwise sent in my general direction. I will make an exception today as I try to embrace change and this being a first represent that type of change I would like to embrace. So bare with me if you are still reading… and if so, thank you!, and keep going 🙂
I read the piece you wrote the other day and it affected my mode somewhat, which is why I decided to put down my thoughts on a crumbling piece of papyrus. Although after some frantic search for papyrus in the attic and later a serious consideration for the trees of the world I decided to go virtual and post it on Tumbler instead. I hope you don’t mind, I will name you anonymous for now.
As of your expression of the increasing hate for yourself I can fully relate, well not hate of you (as of that I have none) but the hate of the self (me, myself and I in this case). The effort we make to try and keep everyone happy for every second of the day, the questioning if we deserve to be happy when we cannot make others happy, the idea that we will have to give something up to be happy, I can relate to it all, completely.
So my advice to you is… none. Sorry I did not write this letter to give you advice, I wrote it to make you aware that people (not a single person) would be happier if you somehow disappeared and disconnected from the world in whichever way, physical or spiritual. I shall not continue down a fluffy path here but end by saying that your creative side is a gift you have been given and one that results in words and other gifts that the world (and the self!) is enjoying immensely. I wish to continue to enjoy the fruits of your labour so for my sake and the sake of the balance of the world I hope you keep on creating.
Remember that there is nothing wrong with only painting with back and white on some days, there are an infinite number of shades of grey there to make a world.
Bye for now 🙂
Red is the canvas on the easel
morbid thoughts painting blood.
Red stains on the carpet,
slowly drying, leaving marks.
Red fingers, I carry with me,
obsessive cleaning, to no avail.
Red stains on your sheets,
spoils our dreams of a child.
I would never be an anon
asking things of you
that I wouldn’t ask in person
face to face with you
thus silent – I remain
The chosen diet of
Sauvignon Blanc and
chocolate were slowly
starting to make a
differences as I climbed
higher and higher into
the shadows where the
line between reality
and dreams begun
to look like the sand between
my toes on a sunny beach.
I have buttons you know
and if you press them
in the right order I will
sing for you forever.
Continuously pressing them
in the wrong order and
I will slowly, and not gracefully
explode.
Till death do us part – it
could get messy.
Your slender body partially covered with silk stands there waiting, blocking the moon’s reflection in the lake.
You turn your head and say
“the trees are silent tonight”
I nod, trying hard not to show.
“You are silent tonight”
I nod, trying hard not to show.
“You knew it had to come to this, eventually”
I nod, trying hard not to show.
“Will you wait for me?”
I nod, trying hard not to show.
“Bye.”
I turn and walk away.
The chill in my bones makes me wrap my coat tighter around me before I take the final leap of faith. As I spiral downwards I realise that man wasn’t designed to fly. Maybe better at swimming I thought as the stream rushed closer.
They found a woman’s frozen remains chained to a jetty by a lake several weeks later. They suspected that the male found in the gorge nearby was connected to her death.
He still waits at the crossroad between that which has passed and that which will come. Waits for her to come and give him another chance. Another chance to find their love and the everlasting light.
Jason, Jason come out and play
Let’s take a bike ride
Down by the old canal
I cant, mum won’t let me go
Says I have to stay indoors
Jason, Jason come out and play
Let’s kick that football
The park’s not far away
I cant, mum won’t let me go
Says my legs are too brittle
Jason, Jason come out and play
Let’s go for a swim
Along the old lake shore
I cant, mum won’t let me go
Says I could catch a cold
Jason, Jason come out and play
Ignore here now and rebel
Againt her cottony ways
Okay, let’s go for a swim
Its freakish Friday
What could possibly go wrong…
@thatrandomprompt prompted me…
She sways her rounded hips around the ballroom, catching the attention of men in the mist. Their longing feeds her lust and the dividing frenzy becomes ecstatic as her eyes part from his, her smile widens and she kisses his neck.
Where is the line
you cannot cross?
To arrive at work
not recalling
how you got there,
or getting back home
not quite sure
which way you took?
Drunk from drink or
from overworking,
both can kill
but only one
will give you jail.
I cross the line – every day.
