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Poco Piu LentoLast night, I threw my mind across the starry apathy of the void It landed between the smooth parentheses of your sleep.Poco Piu Lento
When you breathe in, I want it to be the beginning of my song, Of your story, of three hundred other lives, but All it really means is an exhalation. If you hold onto a moment, is it worth dying to preserve?
Pour your velvety blue dreams into the hollows of my heart; My thirst cannot end, my life is not full,
I must know every one of the secrets that no one will tell.
The only things I remember are the memories I have not had of you; They are
by ~TheSorrowfulSong
Dreams about love -- OneThree nights ago, I wandered into an orchard.Dreams about love -- One
The trees are laden with acres of butter-soft pears, their pastel yellow skins glowing with sunshine and fresh sea air. My mouth is thick and dry with dust. The miles worn into my bare, bleeding feet, the last of the water curling away from my skin, I am not where I need to be.
I reach for the fruit, feeling the warm, syrupy juice trickle down my throat, but the branches are mere centimetres too high. I hop desperately, the last vestiges of my energy dying pathetically in my travel-deadened legs, but the boughs sway just shy of my fingers. A sigh rattles in my throat: I
by ~TheSorrowfulSong
The WatcherThere is a goddess in my garden: she killed my strawberries.The Watcher
I saw her once, walking barefoot under the chestnut tree. Her hair was a tangle of vibrant tomato vines and petunia blossoms. Her wide eyes were a deep, rich brown, golden-flecked, like a swirl of sunny earth. She was carrying a sheaf of roses over her elbow, the flowers perfect and lush; where the thorns bit her arm, she bled a clear milky white. Her green dress swished through the mossy grass like birdsong -- in her hand, she held a basket of apples, ripe and red, their chalky exteriors hiding a pure, sweet truth. The goddess padded radiant and beautiful through the d
by ~TheSorrowfulSong
FFM Drabble - July 15It poured. Penelope stood on the porch without her umbrella; it was childishly pink and she didn't want him to see the tears. Clouds darkened over her friend's house. She raised a reluctant, shivering hand, knowing that he could never love her. Before she had a chance to knock, he opened the door "Liam-" He reached out, surprising her. Almost roughly, he seized her shoulders, bird-like under her soaked shirt. "You have a beautiful smile and a beautiful soul and I love you," he said, face glowing; it stole her vision. Her lips met his. The sun came out.FFM Drabble - July 15
by ~TheSorrowfulSong
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by ~bleddryheart
Getting thereby ~Victawr
picked cleanI grieve in three shades: gray, black, and in that pinkish hue you find on the underbelly of a dead fish. I walk through cemeteries and the gravestones pour out their hearts to me, and I am glad to have umbrella when the pale-faced sky opens all the faucets in the house at once.picked clean
I grieve inside of acoustic-guitar strings. It’s quiet there, and the warm hum reminds me of the glowing ember gnawing its way out of me from right behind my lungs, puncturing them to let out every breath I took from the crisp winter air that nips my face, licks me right on the nose, bathes my face in icy feather dow
by *cloudtographer
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