Wondering and wandering, what place to rest the search?
Outer space or inner mind, each yields a separate perch
Like wings aloft among clouds so soft, plummeting to the earth
when the two combine, and intertwine, true flight shall have birth
Ode To RockI'm tired of lying in the sunshine
and staying home to watch the rain
I cannot sit by while castles burn
and that wheel in the sky - it keeps on turnin'
lives are spent
while steel is bent
to mold a new song
so I'm goin' down by the river
goin' down, goin' down, goin' down now
with a gun in my hand
waiting for the ricochet
like a blind man shooting at the world
gonna carve myself a new stone
but ain't gonna carry it alone
if you join in my song
then it won't be long
rock will surely reclaim the throne
Rhyming WayI have an obsession with rhyming
the problem lies not in the timing
surely it must sound absurd
when I try to put thought into word
Naked Against The Stonenaked against the stone
wish you would leave me alone
can't I do it on my own?
this place I can't call home
might as well build a wall
already made the fall
silence and shadow is all
I need to go AWOL
I asked for a room, but they gave me a cage
asked for a book, only gave me a page
asked for a break, so they put me on stage
asked for some peace, then they filled me with rage
I want to be part of a story,
but this gold-leaf binding's got empty brown pages
don't let them tell you gold is expensive
makes a poor blanket, and doesn't taste too good
frozen in place and sheltering my face
no court would take up my case
we subdue the masses, while killing the individual
Ebb and Flowresist the urge to run
refuse the need to hide
embrace the setting sun
and fight the ebbing tide
Careful With That Axe, Eugenecareful with that axe, eugene
don't forget to wipe it clean
your neighbors all think it's obscene
but you needed to let off some steam
the way you hacked off their limbs
just blame it on a crazy whim
their lives, once bright, now are dim
but their necks really needed a trim
The Ballad of Falling Snowwinter's come again,
and my heart has grown cold
snow is softly falling,
my joy has grown old
I found out today,
you don't love me no more
please, can't somebody tell me,
what living is for?
the world is growing dark,
I haven't seen the sun in days
I've been trying real hard,
but I can't change my sorry ways
when I look out at the world,
the whole world seems so bleak
I try to scream for help,
but you know I can hardly speak
there's a cape not far from home,
a great place to learn to fly
the pain cuts me so deep,
well I think I'd just like to die
The Eyeless Stare (2)I'm waging a war
on a phantom battleground
and the opposing army consists of myself
versions of me existing within the minds of others
illusions that torture me
no less for being unreal
and they're defeating me
I can feel your eyes upon me
each and every one of you
even those of you who aren't looking
even those of you who aren't listening
your eyes are upon me, too
and every second is Judgement Day
praise and acceptance are betrayed by self-doubt
even when your eyes are kind
and your words gentle
it's not you that speaks to me
it's the me that lives inside of you
and my words are venomous, and vile
the communication gap is an intraversible void of blackness, and sorrow
and I can only be free from myself
when I'm free from everybody else
Black DeathBlack Death is calling
how I hate to be alone (repeat)
I keep crying for my family
but they're all dead and gone
There's no one left to comfort me
no one to talk to (repeat)
My friends have died and left me
what ever will I do?
My mother and my father
are buried outside town (repeat)
They tried to look after me
but Black Death struck them down
Now Black Death is calling
and I don't want to be alone (repeat)
Everyone else has fallen
they're all resting in the ground
I tried to save my lover
but there was nothing I could do (repeat)
She died in my arms
and now I've done caught it, too
The doctors they can't help me
they can't keep death away (repeat)
The preachers say to pray to God
but God won't help today
'Cause Black Death's come calling
and I am all alone (repeat)
I hope this pain and misery
don't follow me to the tomb
The Eyeless Stare (1)your presence irritates me
I feel your eyes constantly upon me, even when your back is turned
I hear the insult underneath your kind words
I fear your unasked questions
your silent hatred consumes my heart
I realize that it's all in my head, but that doesn't make it any less real
it's not your fault
I know you don't hate me
but I still feel the hatred coming from you
except it's coming from me
I'm projecting my darkest and most hate-filled self onto others
so that it may hate under disguise
it's not you that hates me, it's me that hates me
I hate myself
you're not the one staring at me constantly, I am
I'm the one questioning my own actions
doubting my own accomplishments
maybe I can beat the Eyeless Stare
if I open my eyes to see what's really there...
sempiternalWhen I grow old
For when rainbows dilute and notebooks fatten
on times untimely passing,
when the moon falls out of kilter with a sun that
curdles in a sad, forgotten sky,
and the rain congeals inside the clouds
when the slurry of seconds sinks deep into my bones
and my skin crumples like parchment, my spine coils and splinters
and my fingers buckle, knuckle-cracking -
when my dreams fade like polaroids in sunshine
and my memories break free from their kitestrings
unanchored and drifting in such dulcet mindmurk and I watch
the world crumble from gold into grey.
I want a thousand laugh-lines
for they will be the maps to better times
so I can find my way back
The Rumour of IcarusIcarus
there is a rumour that your father killed you, that
he bent your wings until they broke and then
told you, "Fly."
If this rumour is true, then it lives in the throats of
those fragile boys who wear your death like Cain's mark,
whose tender hands split like swollen tomatoes when
they pluck strangled seabirds, whose
arms slump beneath the weight of their father's genius.
And this rumour lives on
the under-skin of their eyelids so that when they die
or simply sleep
they dream of their fathers
or maybe just of Daedalus, standing with
his hands full of feathers and wax,
their blood-flecked down under his fingernails.
your face is gone, icarus, you are a warning & a tragedy &
the patron saint of boys who will not listen but also you are a god, icarus,
a god to these boys and still, when you fell
said Bruegel in oils, Auden and Williams in verse
no one gave a damn.
they also say that your father strained the sunlight into an amphora
and told you, "Dri
December 25thDecember 25th and I've had 365 days to forget
your aunt's incredible roast turkey and braiding tinsel
through your sister's hair and interpretive dancing
to cheesy carols with your drunken Uncle Mark.
Firelight flickered across the curve
of your lips, the shadow of your jaw
and boy, you were beautiful,
all smoke and cinnamon.
December 25th and I'm ignoring the urge
to mess up your sleet slickened hair
and the fact that your card now says "from"
instead of "love".
I almost don't notice the way your eyelashes
glitter with snowflakes
and the fact that you look adorable
while you laughingly attempt to make a snow angel.
December 25th and I'm going to cheer
along with the rest of them
when you kiss her under the mistletoe
and then I'll gush about how sweet her embarrassed blushes are.
The pudding is brim filled with wishes
and maybe this year they'll come true better
than the last, because it seems "forever"
was too much to ask for.
Is that supposed to be insulting?"Lesbian!"
You say that like it's a bad thing
like it's something i should be ashamed of.
But why? Because I happen to fall in love with the same gender?
That my interests are out of the ordinary?
That I dye my hair wacky colors and wear clothes that don't fit your normal?
I see nothing wrong with that.
People really suck at insults.
Gender massacre.anatomy is like a cage, that tears away any hope.
born this way, born that way,
our mind chooses nothing.
do we choose what we are? Or does anatomy?
long hair, tight skirts, weak.
thank you, society.
flailing body parts, vulgar dancing, bare.
thank you, ladies.
give those who identify as women a stereotype by wearing more makeup
baggy shorts, shaved heads, muscles.
thank you, society.
patronizing insults, unnessecary grunts, aggressive.
thank you, gentlemen.
give those who identify as men a stereotype by cheating at poker, where
a woman's heart's on the table.
you can't be either,
you can't be both
[this is what you teach me, society.
this is what you teach yourselves, society.]
rip off this skin of mine
rip off these assumptions
rip off the ignorance
and call me human.
What is art?
'Describe what you call art'
To me art is something from the heart.
It's an embodiment of a vision,
It's a display of ambition.
An artist's work is never done,
Cause to the artist the work is only part of the fun.
An artist tries to show his emotions,
While sometimes hiding his true motions.
They say the eyes are the gate to the soul,
That's why an artist will never look foul.
They guide people through a world only they see,
A world filled with mountains, miracles, oceans and land seas.
So whenever somebody asks me: 'What is art?'
I do not only answer: "Something straight from the heart,
It's everything we know and that which we don't know.
It's hidden by the illusion of reality only certain people can see through."
To Us- Synesthesiai.
excites a burst
of color; an
tastes of mangoes;
caressing my senses.
your flavor is
all become a
"T" is crabby
and "I" worries.
"J" is strong
each number becomes
its own plane
all the numbers
becoming an army
of curvy rows,
a perfect pattern.
each and every one
a different hue,
a different shade,
2P Romano Hetaloid x Reader (Part 2)“talking”, ‘thinking’
Despite you pleads Flavio kept undressing you, leaving you only in your (color) frilly undergarments. “Frills definitely suit you my bella ragazza but I wouldn’t mind taking those off for you too~” “NO!” You quickly avoided his hands as he was reaching for the clip of you bra, and since beggar can’t be choosers you picked up the first piece of clothing you got your hands on. “Aaww~ Alright mio amore you can still wear it but only if you put on that dress you got” “Fine, I’ll be back” You went into your room and locked the door to change only to realize what dress you have picked out. It was a short (color) maid dress that you bought yesterday just thinking you could wear it for fun while cleaning the house.
‘Dear God why!? …Maybe I can escape through my window and-’ “(f/n)~! You done? Don’t make me go in there~” “Fuck my life”
.SetIt is Akhet, the season of sorrow and silt, and Set
must tense his sandbreath against the slick of wet
once more. It's always the same: though he's unsure
who started the game, or whose face he wears,
he knows he must prepare for the beginning of the end,
the bite of night and all the slippages in the inbetween.
And he swore he'd bait their breath,
but they'd rather choose death than fear,
with their tombstone legs, arms pegged
in sockets and their locked ears,
burying themselves beneath blocks
built to the sun. They outrun him, every time.
It's a crime. He remembers what his mother said:
do what you're able to keep them faithful,
to keep them grateful under the table.
He wonders where it all went wrong.
So he must sink into the long light, fight wanderlust
for blighted floodplains, and try not to ask why.
There are no answers, only questions.
Even his name is disguised by the way they collide in the dust.
He won't look back to watch the waters rise,
or the blackening of the swallowed