AntonIn the years that have since passed I was Chekhov; Masterful in brevity, not so much In maintaining our longevity. You were my mistress, my literature, But my medicine was lacking. Through tempests and train rides, I remained stoic but you shifted and changed. From my neglect you bore your wings. And like a seagull you flew, Taking with you pieces of my soul And creativity, doting on The Joyce’s of the world, your beauty. You left me only questions; no answers. My downfall and my legacy.Anton
AftermathIndoors we lay, Like yin and yang, entwined Bodies on the futon We bought from the flea marketAftermath
by your favourite grocery store.
My kisses grow bolder, But the day is getting older, And your heart isn’t in it.
Lie to me, lay with me, Just don’t break my heart.
Morning CommuteEarly morning in late April And the chill is less noticeable Below ground.Morning Commute
Isolated, desolated; quiet.
But the light rail train is here, In a rush of sudden air.
I board and begin moving, racing Through the silent darkness.
Bursting to the surface, To cross the river, I find No blinding light or blue sky.
It is gray on the horizon and Snow, lost on it’s journey to earth, Tumbles waywardly, everywhere.
Passing next to the resilient rail Of commerce trains, going In the opposite direction,
I sigh
by $fangedfem
by =surrealeye
31 Writting Prompts
Artistic
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I'm Fuckin' Innocent,
They Won't Break Me!
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hypermagical ultraomnipotence.
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Try to fly with the wings I gave you
Try to do what you believe
and I will save you.
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~*a ruffled mind makes a restless pillow*~
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Mackadoshus!!!
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Nolite te Bastardes Carborundorum
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« The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity. »
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