a certain crucial blue
The sky was the color of sirens, or maybe it was the color of a trumpet's wail. A certain crucial blue that always seems upon the verge of some great change. A prophetic hue speaking to just that perfectly honed portion of soul, that margin where every mistake is made. Painted by this collision of spectra and inference, the sky seeming...
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The sky was the color of sirens, or maybe it was the color of a trumpet's wail. A certain crucial blue that always seems upon the verge of some great change. A prophetic hue speaking to just that perfectly honed portion of soul, that margin where every mistake is made. Painted by this collision of spectra and inference, the sky seeming...
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nightmare
The claws work the flesh, plucking shreds, drawing blood. With the dulled vision of fever heat you watch your skin flayed, scarcely feeling an interest. Asleep, awake, the story unwinds the same. The sound of gear teeth meshing, that rush of electricity mingling with living meat. A face the color of turned milk, eyes afloat like bruises at long last free. There is a...
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The claws work the flesh, plucking shreds, drawing blood. With the dulled vision of fever heat you watch your skin flayed, scarcely feeling an interest. Asleep, awake, the story unwinds the same. The sound of gear teeth meshing, that rush of electricity mingling with living meat. A face the color of turned milk, eyes afloat like bruises at long last free. There is a...
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sparrow
They move in clusters, though each moves alone. Dust brown, a tiny crowd settles in the shadow cast upon hot asphalt. The small birds sort through the gravel, pick at twig and leaf. One lights upon a chain link fence, then another. Soon the flock fills all the empty spaces between leaf and limb, rising through the reaching tree, rising into the sky. The...
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They move in clusters, though each moves alone. Dust brown, a tiny crowd settles in the shadow cast upon hot asphalt. The small birds sort through the gravel, pick at twig and leaf. One lights upon a chain link fence, then another. Soon the flock fills all the empty spaces between leaf and limb, rising through the reaching tree, rising into the sky. The...
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one word
The stars all settled in the ceiling, and the wind was all out of breath. The moon was hiding in some haystack, and the night spilled down the stairs. I thought I would pause to count my heartbeats, but my eyes soon filled with smoke. Always a fire, always something burning. Always some new pen awaiting that last stroke.
You would think that...
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The stars all settled in the ceiling, and the wind was all out of breath. The moon was hiding in some haystack, and the night spilled down the stairs. I thought I would pause to count my heartbeats, but my eyes soon filled with smoke. Always a fire, always something burning. Always some new pen awaiting that last stroke.
You would think that...
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iron mask
It seems slow then all at once the gray wall shifts, color spilling from every surface of each once worn shadow. Brighter all at once the world loses just a little, all that solar nurture a sudden blinding to tiny blessings. Eyes dull their focus, or chase everything that is bright and lively. Eyes lose their reason, swallowing so much light. The face...
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It seems slow then all at once the gray wall shifts, color spilling from every surface of each once worn shadow. Brighter all at once the world loses just a little, all that solar nurture a sudden blinding to tiny blessings. Eyes dull their focus, or chase everything that is bright and lively. Eyes lose their reason, swallowing so much light. The face...
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the measure of my dreams
It is the first light I see before I close my eyes that nestles in these revelations. It is the ghost of a moment, the breath of intent. The smooth skin and all its comfortable assumptions, the bounty pressed by bone and earth. That stirring of sheets just before dreaming is unleashed. That settling of circumstance to the stillness deep...
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It is the first light I see before I close my eyes that nestles in these revelations. It is the ghost of a moment, the breath of intent. The smooth skin and all its comfortable assumptions, the bounty pressed by bone and earth. That stirring of sheets just before dreaming is unleashed. That settling of circumstance to the stillness deep...
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feyne:
That is one original compliment, thank you !
inspiration
I can't wait around for inspiration. I don't sleep enough to count on dreams. So instead it is the steaming of the coffee maker, the stained lip of the unwashed cup. It is the dusk steeping through the blinds and the moths beating at the screen. It is wind-chimes and traffic sounds and the squeals of children free at least while summer break lasts....
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I can't wait around for inspiration. I don't sleep enough to count on dreams. So instead it is the steaming of the coffee maker, the stained lip of the unwashed cup. It is the dusk steeping through the blinds and the moths beating at the screen. It is wind-chimes and traffic sounds and the squeals of children free at least while summer break lasts....
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the cover
If they can't cheer the singer, at least let them cheer the song. That time soaked playlist, those favorites that you feel whatever your mood. The words you mouth without thinking, the singing that stays with you long past all the music being done. You can hear them in your silent places. You can see them written in the gravel in the road....
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If they can't cheer the singer, at least let them cheer the song. That time soaked playlist, those favorites that you feel whatever your mood. The words you mouth without thinking, the singing that stays with you long past all the music being done. You can hear them in your silent places. You can see them written in the gravel in the road....
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stacks
The silence is broken by the press of objects, placed on shelves and in corners. Layered with dust or smudged with the awkward attentions of too many fingers. Stacks of books read once, stacks waiting to be ever read. New technologies and time worn tools. Shoes and lamps and remote controls. Layer upon layer of accumulation. A crowd of gifts and burdens.
There is...
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The silence is broken by the press of objects, placed on shelves and in corners. Layered with dust or smudged with the awkward attentions of too many fingers. Stacks of books read once, stacks waiting to be ever read. New technologies and time worn tools. Shoes and lamps and remote controls. Layer upon layer of accumulation. A crowd of gifts and burdens.
There is...
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your beauty
It isn't so just because I said it. And it isn't so just because it is what others believe. Your beauty is a constant, a mark in the map of the universe. It is a sign and an acknowledgement. It is the root of all roads and any places made home. It is the mother's knot of creation, fixed into the earth and...
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It isn't so just because I said it. And it isn't so just because it is what others believe. Your beauty is a constant, a mark in the map of the universe. It is a sign and an acknowledgement. It is the root of all roads and any places made home. It is the mother's knot of creation, fixed into the earth and...
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reasons to fear
Though the flesh is weary, pressed by heat and impact, crushed by the sunlight and the dwindling blue of the atmosphere, the ritual remains. The ritual endures despite every meaning being forgotten, every reason a relic buried in hot sand. Each movement enshrined deep with-in muscle memory and the burden of bad habit. The flame is tendered, the smoke kissed, the ash...
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Though the flesh is weary, pressed by heat and impact, crushed by the sunlight and the dwindling blue of the atmosphere, the ritual remains. The ritual endures despite every meaning being forgotten, every reason a relic buried in hot sand. Each movement enshrined deep with-in muscle memory and the burden of bad habit. The flame is tendered, the smoke kissed, the ash...
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purity
I would be that difference left when breath escapes the trance of breathing, that lapse between speech and gasp, that point before all smaller calamities ensue. I would be the broken vow and the spoiled oath, the confessions of iron left to the rain. That pause of salt, all glamour and radiance, all metal and ash. Lingering there, neither wholly solid or that blush...
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I would be that difference left when breath escapes the trance of breathing, that lapse between speech and gasp, that point before all smaller calamities ensue. I would be the broken vow and the spoiled oath, the confessions of iron left to the rain. That pause of salt, all glamour and radiance, all metal and ash. Lingering there, neither wholly solid or that blush...
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zain:
Thanks so much for your comment on my set 
I really like your writing, you have a beautiful way with words. x
I really like your writing, you have a beautiful way with words. x