the touch of a maiden’s rosy skin in the winter. Waves of heat rolling and tumbling over each other as the brine water of the sea, sending delicious chills over my skin. Each pulse made me lust for the heat of it more, and I wondered how I had lived so many moons in frigid...
huddled mass of people stood against the white soft snow. The green carpet stretched forth before them. The casket adorned with red roses. The white snow covered the red petals turning the tops to a soft pink.
In the shadows of this madness, the man sat despondent to the...
so I can indulge,
The desire of what man calls lust,
Just one touch,
I long for it all,
The whispers calling me fed up with the pain,
No one can insulate my desires because I strive for the most,
Call me sick but that I am not,
Ill I am diseased...
and basked in the wonderful glow of our love for each other. I knew that I wasn't just falling in love with her i was falling head over heels for her. She amazes me with her sexual prowess, her emotional availability and her love for me. My own situation has caused me to feel...
watching him walk away
Her door to this universe slams shut
He bursts out of the house,
Behind him the laws of science is about to be questioned,
In this forbidden land of emotions,
Her cries shatter the glass in her world,
Her pain ignited,
The flame glows the darkness,
I became the Prairie Lazarus' Lover).
It wasn't possible, and yet there was no other explanation. Eva's mind tried to rationalize it, and failing, then struggled to accept it nonetheless. But another part, a deeper part, of her knew it to be true, and perhaps had known it upon...
Using words to seduce my way in
Into your lungs
On the tip of your tongue
Into your blood
On the shelves of your soul
Where no one else goes
I wish I could find
The way into your mind
You remind me of that perfect line
When the ocean meets the sky...
so misunderstood. I always felt like the black sheep of my family, like the invisible friend. I was always the girl that couldn't fit anywhere, that belonged nowhere, that wouldn't be missed by anyone, that would be unlovable and unlikeable all her life. I was always the piece...
Does anyone else here daydream about a story they are writing? I find myself so involved in something I am working on, that I literally walk around with my head in the clouds all day at work, and I can barely wait for the weekend when I can park it in front of my computer...
for words that will somehow manage to convey a meaning beyond the material and will leave a lasting impression. Yet, the more I think about it, the less purpose I see to writing at all. What are these symbols after all, beyond an arbitrarily structured mass of scribbles? How do...
I think not.
Do you know your soul?
I know not.
For if We did, we would embrace each others choices, no matter what they may be.
Do you know his heart?
I think not.
Do you know his soul?
I know not.
For if We did, we would honor his masculinity and raise him up in times if...
upon a rose bed
With Man, or ones to pass over him
In favor of the jeweled stars instead?
Would they - who in planar spaces dwell -
Descend for mere cries from a child?
Fix? Mend? Love, ere rising o'er Hell
To guard their smile, and guard it well?
Yea! 'tis true; I have borne...
Watching words fall like rain,
Immersing in a river of rhythm,
Giving meaning to beautifully carved ice,
Shaping the silk of your stare,
And the taste of fire from your eyes…
Inspired by a picture of Camilla Belle
And Adele - Set Fire To The Rain
cage on my heart
Beneath my breast
Piercing my ribs with every breath
I'm left and dead set on what I regret
You deny my pain like I'll suffer less
Drive me insane and tore off my dress
To spill the words I couldn't say
They dance on my tongue
Like birds of prey...
that had been crawling over her skin the past two days heightening to the point of discomfort. She couldn't see a future with him, she felt like the "honeymoon," so to speak, was over, she felt as though it was time to let go.
So soon? She asked herself. Yes. So soon.
I wouldn't ever say that writing is my hobby. That would be too weak and too unappropriate expression for everything that it means to me.
Writing is my desire, my passion, my freedom, my way of leaving the mark. I may say that it has actually become my way of thinking as well...
She sees images she cannot describe,
Thunderstorm falling from the clouds,
She hears voices she cannot understand,
Rivers streaming into the seas,
She reads words she cannot articulate,
Scents bursting from desire,
She breathes what she cannot taste,
Lost in this world,
as he stood outside. The rain drops seemed to anticipate things to come. Slowly speeding up in their own way. The decisions that fell writhing in each solemn drop.
His hand in his pocket he looked across. Wanting to go inside there but afraid of his own truth. In a...
Date a girl who writes.
Date a girl who may never wear completely clean clothes, because of coffee stains and ink spills. She’ll have many problems with her closet space, and her laptop is never boring because there are so many words, so many worlds that she’s cluttered...
I will admit that I am fearful. I am not ashamed of this and I do not regret it... because fear reminds me of my humanity, reminds me of caution, and spares me of my arrogance...
Fear isn't something to ignore, it is merely another obstacle to embrace and overcome.
who support film, voice acting, 90s Nick tv, or income equality.
If you support film, sign. Its to make california film permit fees for no budget films to be free/waived.
I started writing on a daily basis when I was a freshman in High School. I had a teacher that was also a professor at a well known university. He loved creative writing and journaling. His love of the written word soon was instilled in me. ...
To warm the hearts of lost souls seeking for an escape,
A barren & solitary land a million miles away from life,
Surrounded by an ocean of frantic navy blue waves,
Exposing its inner secrets to the uninhibited sailors,
It was still home, a home of timeless presence...
Pour salt in the wounds
That still bleed for you
Forget her it's better I don't know the truth
I don't want you
I don't need you
Yes I do
Tell me you're sorry you broke my heart
For the pieces of me you tore apart
Your blind drunk and venomous work of art
It's intrinsic, a trait passed-down to me by my writer-mom. I wrote a children's book when I just 10. I've written everyday (in some form) for almost 20 years. Journals and journals of entries, blog posts, messages, reports. Writing is one of the few things I can tolerate...And...
they see me as shy, dumb and invisible. But that's not me, to be honest no one really knows who I am, people think they know what I am thinking and what I would do in most situations, and most of the time they are wrong. I'm at that horible age when your not sure what the future...
A silhouette stands waiting,
Soft hazy glow behind, reveals his hesitation,
Sweaty trembling fists fluctuating the glow,
Squeaking wood floor buckles under his walk,
A desk filled with scattered papers with an open letter,
It was his last letter, a year ago,
His breathe gets...
Standing on mountain top,
Wind blowing Indian feathers,
Tired eyes gazing the horizon,
Clouds turning to dark silver,
Rolling thunder in the distance,
Signalling its arrival,
Surrounding eagles desperate for flesh,
Spear unearthed for war,
The war paint faces waiting for this...
let him go ; let go of her
We can't let go unless we're sure
For something that can dislocate
Something cold to numb the ache
Something to be our next mistake
Something like love lying in wait
Satans got his eyes on me
With marked intent , selfishly
The cross I wear...
I am working on a couple of novels, they come from the brain and require discipline. I write erotica which id born out of passion and comes from your soul. But poetry comes from the heart and is born out of pain and despair. You will seldom meet a happy poet. Especially right...
and cold sweat
Move across my untouched flesh
My bruises are fading
And I'm contemplating
Ways to entangle myself in your web
Cold air in my face and I only taste you
Unfair , but I wait and I crave only you
A sickness of desire
And scenes in my mind
Your touch gets me...
slipped up high to her thighs,
Walking bare feet, gently floating in a mystic rhythm,
Thin stems of the green grass brushing her skin,
As she tucks her hair behind her ear,
A gesture of immaculate femininity,
Afternoon sunset watering her wonder eyes,
Her walk continues...
this enchanted place
stands pale in its comparison to thee
crested in a night of armor
a simple wanderer of the truth
in a deathly place for love's fallacies
I wander the distance
finding myself here
this place collapses against time itself
rearing back against its own...
desire that can only be filled by one and no other?
I have this now. This ache for only you and you alone.
Come to me, give me what I desire, in my dreams where anything will happen.
All these feelings and more. Touch me, kiss me, feel me cringe with fierce want and desire make...
A spinning compass
A shredded map
Your fingertips across my lips
Tiny little slivers
With the shards left from words
That I spoke in reverse
Mixed anger with hurt
And you tasted it first
Open my mouth and the devil comes out
cousin of death approaches...
Dim candle lit whispers flicker thoughts upon the walls of endless dusk,
Distorted vibrations resonate across the milky skyline saturated with soft kisses,
Purple ink rain drops flood the canvas constructing emotional tidal waves,
His tall dark figure hiding in the succulent shadows. This distaste for life for where he emotionally was. Staring across the street at the shining neon lights of the diner. He wanted to cross but knew he couldn't. He wanted to more than anything but all he could do was sit...