I caressed the sun last night, stroking skin and stars.

To intimately feel the darkness, is to see the light. 

I dug through wet dirt, searching for new forms of blasphemy.

Let me dissipate, let me become holier than thou.

Kierkegaard once said that we are great in proportion to what we love.

I love the moon as it swallows the night sky.

I love balloons as they burst, and tears as they fall. 

I love the God I have...

tw for death- car crashes, (and a bus) falling, allergy attack . be careful.

o.
three's a crowd, that is true.
but take one more. take four,
and you have death.

i.
we live in a world that wears our humanity around our necks.
four lives, the wind whispers weighing lightly under my chest.
four lives, four deaths.
i'd almost wish for only one. one life, one death-
because then would it truly matter.

ii.
that week you didn't come...

I like to drink in church. 
Not to be disrespectful or anything like that, but its a bore. I know the verses, the gospel backwards and forwards, forwards and back. Listening to the same stuff for a thousand Sundays becomes dreadfully droll and boring after twenty years. 
Today I brought in a long-necked bottle of some foreign booze I swiped from the clearance section at Gimbel’s, in a paper bag of course. I always make sure to take sips when...

once i heard the warning call
   i knew my time had come
i put on my tin helmet 
   and loaded my wooden gun. 

step in line, 
    step in time, 
my brothers called as we started 
  for the quilted knoll, our eyes 
   raised to the sky in silent prayer. 

step in line, 
   step in time, 
  for the taste of victory is sweet, 
   we will revel in our enemies's blood
   as it...

the world spins on one axis
in one direction
i'm tired of the motion
sickness. 

After at least half an hour of silently pleading to be let inside, Minerva retreated to the shed. The door blew open time and time again, a victim to the heavy winds that howled incessantly. She plopped down upon she and Marco's shared cot. Her cloak was dripping wet with melted snow. Her hair hung about her face in limp black threads. 
What had she done wrong to earn Ophelia's disdainful look? She tried in vain to rack her brain...

If you stare long enough at an abstract painting, you will begin to see yourself in every illogical curve. I was listening to Elliot Smith this morning when I realized a simple truth, being sad is beautiful. But so is being happy, angry, tired. We are beautiful because we augment our curves, whether they be smiles or frowns. Even Cubist paintings are two dimensional; with a foreground and a background, held together by tension, by poignant harmony and discord.  

hello, i’m flora kane.

that’s me, but not really me. the character i’ve come up with, the person i am when i write, that’s flora. 

i can’t be the only one who makes up main characters by basing them on who you wish you could be. this is of the same vein, naming the character you already have inside your head. for me, my pen name began as enna hollynd, the name of the main character of my first big...

You're stitching me with Rosy strings,
but these strings are not that strong.
I'm still tearing apart.
You're painting my canvas with blush,
But that blush is so dull,
the canvas is still empty.
You're trying to decorate me, right?
That embroidery on me...with rose coloured strings,
But I'm not that beautiful.
Sticking those rose petals on me will not help,
they're flying away leaving me blank,
leaving me with a fragrance of dead roses!
That decoration isn't DAZZLIN', its...

ricky montgomery makes me sob 
i find irony in the fact that everything makes sense but yet 
at the end of the day we are both just empty vessels 

I often remember you as a garden 
Your insides spilling over me like fallen leaves off a tree
On all levels except physical I have transcended 
I am a puddle of bones and a locked key 
                             ...