sabbie beauty can be found
everywhere you look
werewolf from one unexpected response to another 020718
jane unfortunately for me i find myself the other way 020720
.-. don't just tear away a few little pieces and leave, stay awhile, it was all yours for the taking anyway

now it sits here half-eaten and going to waste
pushpins I'm trying to find
the shortcut to forever
in the spaces between your words
and the slight sound of your breath
through the wires of my telephone.
And maybe its an endless search
but you keep me
and shape me in the meantime
the inbetween moments
of my chase,
you study my soul
as I wait for
some sort of impossible kiss
because i think i could find
inbetween your lips.
jane that's beautiful 020825
sabbie pushpins, thats fucking beautiful 020826
pushpins thankyou!

sirflaccid The day you open yourself and let it all flood out will be the day I let loose 020826
-.:.::eric::.::. Woah, how...feeling. (-: good job.

such a strange thing, baring your soul. Some people instictively do it too much, some people just stay inside and don't do anything.
Freak He angrily fucked her eager body
She eagerly fucked his angry mind
. . 050109
dandy The man who gets angry at the right things and with the right people, and in the right way and at the right time and for the right length of time, is commended. Otherwise he is fucked one way or another. 050109

you are the dream extinguished
upon waking that haunts
the tip of your tongue for the rest of the hour
the safety pin
between the cushions of the couch
just when it was needed to hold things together
the paper bag
wet, rumpled and flapping
urban flowers that used to hold liquor
the last soap resin
to go down the drain
when wrinkled fingertips ended the shower
the forlorn balloon
swept out the front door
leaving tear-stained eyes that first grasp forever
the rotating star
in peripheral vision
without constellation to fix onto laughter
the red wine stain
no improvement denies
that lies on the carpet and slowly gets wetter
the lined paper ball
uncrumpled and smoothed
a curbside poem in each glaring letter
the seat on the subway
saved for the lonely
and only the truest of pure hearts may enter
you are in the pixels of a censored face
the plastic crown of cardboard kings
just one last thing before I go
i'll bare my teeth you bare your soul

feels so alone
. marked 050110
what's it to you?
who go