

Purple At My WeddingIt's been a decade since the death of my paulownia tree.Purple At My Wedding
I would spend my afternoons underneath waiting and watching intently for when the reflection of my absence would extend further than the shade.
Only a decade ago, and now the thought of friends, family, and myself in the
throes of cancer seems cliché.
Yet every time I see the color of ocean salt in full-moon eyes, I realize that all the
time that I spent reading, I wasn'


Ninety-One PagesFor every year in the Doctor's age, There lies more knowledge than I comprehend, More sorrow than I could ever gauge. I wonder when he'll meet his end.Ninety-One Pages
To his research he still does attend. His work is his life, and his hair all are grays. What I would give to have a poem penned For every year in the Doctor's age.
I met him when I was still teenage. Into his laboratory, I did descend. Within every rusty chicken cage, There lies more knowledge than I comprehend.
His dying wife, his only friend. Her fading mind he tries to assuage. I see in


Sun in DecayPeeling back layers of naiveté, Each one fading into the next, Like the colors of the sun, in decay. Taking the one before it out of context.Sun in Decay
Somewhere in the calamity between The petals, the pollen, the stamen, There lies no image unclean. Pure life at home, in Eden.
The paint is crimson; the paint, goldenrod, Is dancing the best of the great ballets. Do I gaze on a flower or on a bawd? Or is this just a canvas set ablaze?


The Surrender FlagI would give anything to be mortal. Give me my reckoning, my pure justice. I am not the hero, just the minstrel.The Surrender Flag
For each day seperate, but not equal, A life without meaning, a life endless. I would give anything to be mortal.
I take myself somewhere far more tranquil, Away from this sewage, this awful mist. I am not the hero, just the minstrel.
I lost my sight, I have no visual, Just the scent and smell of sad coitus. I would give anything to be mortal.
A god collapsing in downward spiral; A home, empty, on morning of Christmas. I
--
I'm not really all here~ ♫
FOR THE HORDE!
[link]
--
My Roommate: "So...Easter's next weekend"
Me: "Yeah...um....that's the day Santa Claus goes down your chimney to forgive all your sins right?"
--
I'm not really all here~ ♫
FOR THE HORDE!
--
Let the heart speak out.....
--
JOIN THIS CONTEST
--
When you have insomnia, you're never really asleep...and you're never really awake.
--
~swimboy5002
--
MySpace -- [link]
LiveJournal -- [link]
DeviantART -- [link]
--
A BAD GALLERY
Previous Page12345Next Page