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There was something of the night, she would say, which had always frightened her.
It wasn't the moonless shadows or the strange prolixity of sounds, but the way the skyline would shatter just beyond the city's crest, as if proving to her childish mind that nothing is truly limitless. Not even the sky.
Literature
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Palms balmy with chlorophyll
I would clench lighter fluid between spider print finger tips
Palms slick with perspiration and adrenalin
Cheap liquor to give us a mediocre buzz
Watered down whisky and crumpled cigarettes
We'd slink into broken down kiddie parks, quiet and unwanted
Kicking our legs to the skies in an attempt to life ourselves off the earth
But wax melts far too quickly and a nosedive into the earth's core
Seems strangely appealing, I guess we're the kids parent's warn their children about
I can hardly doubt them, we are patchwork masochists
Finding solace in flowering bruises and cross hatched stitches
Pick pocketing pennies
Literature
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things she's destroyed this year;
two washing machines
from the pockets she fills with rocks
when the rains come and she wants to drown
the corners of all her books from flicking
bending and shaking edges
whenever she thinks of you
you stupid boy
her first car
crumpled in a ravine
and it left a scar on her stomach
that she sometimes can poke
and feel a lump that science can't explain
and she thinks it physical sadness
resting
waiting
the entire box of plates
that her mother gave her for moving out
and making it on her own
well, she almost made it
but something about them
being under the ground left
her shaking uncontrollably
and the tea
Literature
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The effectiveness of an umbrella is
inversely proportionate to its comfort,
you mapped the world in gradients
of notes that slid open on spokes.
watching a city under an inverted sky,
you tethered your soul to the tops of buildings,
following runway lights that
bled into a fog of classical and thoughts
there is something ethreal about music,
intangible-
you try to grasp the rain
but the words slip through your fingers
the night we met,
on the piano, you tried to play the sky
but all that rolled out was a muted thunder
Sometimes it rains in people,
You can see it in their eyes
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Just a bit of the book I may start writing...
I've never written anything of this kind of length or depth before, so I'm a bit hesitant to start but I figured hey, even if I completely loose all motivation or it ends up being a flop, at least I tried
I've never written anything of this kind of length or depth before, so I'm a bit hesitant to start but I figured hey, even if I completely loose all motivation or it ends up being a flop, at least I tried
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I have always wanted to write a novel !!! I am definitely going to try now ! oh btw! Your words are marvelous... I had to search what prolixity meant but other then that I think I can be at your level 
!!
!!