My teenage room.
The view.
My very own stray bat.
Saturday, 30 July 2011
Wednesday, 27 July 2011
GASP.
I write. I’m making peace with my own words these days. We had a fight not long ago. I was angry and disappointed, and said things I shouldn’t have said to them.
Up the wide wooden stars, underneath the acrylic stairs, I crawl down to the underworld. Shapes of epitomized perfection build for my comprehension. I shall never long for anything again. I gasp for air; I paint with my fingers and create a master piece of delight. I belong as I’ve never been gone, and I find as it all I possess.
The weary days are over, as the time streams between amusement and fascination. I need to know it all, while my words are shut, and my skin leads my mind.
The amber walls are dim from nighttime and dark room honey sweet dreams ahead.
I’m high as a kite, and my lips are blood filled and torn apart. I’ll dust your bones, I’ll be gentle, and I’ll treasure them and keep them with mine.
The alphabet is in vowels I’ve never written before. Pale-blue steel and rags from our creation, and twin boughs of immoral precedence make a frame I’ve cherished.
Neverland indeed, keep loosing away sanity. Figure myself since I could never. Tell me where and when and I’ll follow through.
I can’t read your mind. There are tides in my head. I’m a mirror and a nothing.
Fractals I brought from the swamp in the land of metal, architecture composing of incongruence I should have never forced anyone to.
Flooding the rooms of my head with words in perfect semantic and unquestionable pronunciation, I tore away my adolescent self. I can make a sense, there it all will rest.
Up the wide wooden stars, underneath the acrylic stairs, I crawl down to the underworld. Shapes of epitomized perfection build for my comprehension. I shall never long for anything again. I gasp for air; I paint with my fingers and create a master piece of delight. I belong as I’ve never been gone, and I find as it all I possess.
The weary days are over, as the time streams between amusement and fascination. I need to know it all, while my words are shut, and my skin leads my mind.
The amber walls are dim from nighttime and dark room honey sweet dreams ahead.
I’m high as a kite, and my lips are blood filled and torn apart. I’ll dust your bones, I’ll be gentle, and I’ll treasure them and keep them with mine.
The alphabet is in vowels I’ve never written before. Pale-blue steel and rags from our creation, and twin boughs of immoral precedence make a frame I’ve cherished.
Neverland indeed, keep loosing away sanity. Figure myself since I could never. Tell me where and when and I’ll follow through.
I can’t read your mind. There are tides in my head. I’m a mirror and a nothing.
Fractals I brought from the swamp in the land of metal, architecture composing of incongruence I should have never forced anyone to.
Flooding the rooms of my head with words in perfect semantic and unquestionable pronunciation, I tore away my adolescent self. I can make a sense, there it all will rest.
Saturday, 2 July 2011
PAN.
It’s half past seven in the afternoon and the sky is already as dark as it ever gets to be. Two days ago, I was enjoying sunlight until almost ten in the night. Or suffering from it.
Luckily for me, it’s not unbearably cold. Around 10ºC to be more precise, or at least that’s what the Internet is telling me.
I thought about working on my illustrations, but that ain’t happening, and I thought about going to the “gym”(???), but of course that’s most definitely not happening either. Is there anything left? Can I please feel like doing anything other than just pointlessly surfing on the net while chewing pieces of sardo cheese?
I can’t watch TV either. There’s nothing there that’s remotely worth watching, and the remote control is dead. Apparently, they don’t live as long as people expect them to. Is like, buying a hamster only to find out that it probably won’t live more than a year.
PAN.
Luckily for me, it’s not unbearably cold. Around 10ºC to be more precise, or at least that’s what the Internet is telling me.
I thought about working on my illustrations, but that ain’t happening, and I thought about going to the “gym”(???), but of course that’s most definitely not happening either. Is there anything left? Can I please feel like doing anything other than just pointlessly surfing on the net while chewing pieces of sardo cheese?
I can’t watch TV either. There’s nothing there that’s remotely worth watching, and the remote control is dead. Apparently, they don’t live as long as people expect them to. Is like, buying a hamster only to find out that it probably won’t live more than a year.
PAN.
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