~shecanread
alive and dancing
Newest
morninghe says, wake up, and we stop sleeping, because our closed eyes mean we’re missing the sounds of comfortable love everywhere. It’s the smell of wonder, it’s the smooth noise of knee upon knee, the way my fingers are breaking. Those notes of melody being stroked by the stars -- not the sounds of harps, but the nights of soft moans, the songs of closed eyes and tiny kisses in the park. he says, wake up, i miss the feeling in our arms. And, do you hear the seconds ticking by, the music of gentle touches and stares across the dark? It’s violins, it’smorning
by ~shecanread
.violins were always playing in the drums of my fifteen year old ears, do you know, i think my fingers were bent over before i turned seventy, and dry beyond their years, too tattered to be there, just because those narrow bones badly needed something to hold between them. and it’s so strange, because whenever i hear songs without words i imagine you singing..
by ~shecanread
i'm sorry for our daysit was the first warm day in april, and you had never once touched me before. &ni'm sorry for our days
by ~shecanread
so small we cannot see anymoreshe knew he was going to leave when she could no longer tell the difference between his hand and his heart in the darkness. the rough palms of their hands collided, and the worn skin made them think about every time they had ever hurt with their bodies closed, fists clenched onto nothing.so small we cannot see anymore
by ~shecanread
Favourites
Fried Egg MorningIt's a fried egg morning and the rain bleeds like yolk past this windowscape of pedestrian indifference. It's ten past eight and I'm smoking myself sober, watching the steam condense.Fried Egg Morning
It's a fried egg morning across from the Laundromat, where the spin cycles hypnotise recovering drunks. Fat sizzles behind the counter as the waitress serves up greasy sausages to some washed-out old punk.
It was a hard night, that's for sure, catching my kip on the train, with a newspaper blanket and the stale smell of beer. stumbling half-blind through
by =fm-vorassi
lolitaby ~sleepyfeet
Sincerely, MaddyMy dear, I have read that a person reads with a greater awareness when they are in love with the writer. Their understanding of nuances and potential meanings is more acute; they read between the lines, so to speak. If that is so then it is safe to say that I love you, for I find myself reading every word you write to me again and again to find any meaning that I might have missed. I want to know so much more than is revealed by the face value of your words. In your letters of late I have noticed something that causes me some disturbance. OSincerely, Maddy
by `BerylAlexandros
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Devious Info
- Interests: i mostly like collaging shoes, thrift shopping, and oscar wilde.
- Favourite band or musician: casiotone for the painfully alone
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Never ask a P.R. man for the truth and never shake hands with a gynecologist. These are basic professional rules.
Senito aliquos togatos contra me conspirare...
because you are so so brilliant.
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Bottom Of The World literary magazine
Post more! (not that I have any high ground to speak from)
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I'm only going to heaven if it tastes like caramel.
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<3 all we know is falling.
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death,the new beginning?
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