fyn gula there is falling, not from clouds swollen by raindrops or snowflakes, but unseen dust, sprinkled by the fingers of a God singing to us.

this voice is the echo of our indelible longing, an inherent love though humanly impossible, suddenly communicated through our song that has no words, only the trembling of lips, the racing heart, and the silent shoutings of the soul.

breath is a gift. a life that is our origin. not blood alone in our veins, but gratitude. strength from muscle, yet more from belief. foundation in skeletal support, but also faith.

we walk away upon paths of shimmering light. shadows in opposition, darkness hungry for brightness.
tourist paraphrasing I Am a Pilgrim,
And a stranger,
Traveling through
This Worrisome land.
But I have a Home,
In Yonder City.
Good Lord!
And it's Not,
Good Lordy!
And it's Not
Not made by Man!
phil death 020214
bethany devolge, 020214
unhinged i swallowed pieces of you
to make me whole
wrapped in the clouds of smoke
we inhaled around each other
wanting to touch you
because whenever you were around
i couldn't hate you
your voice dissolving in my head
because i will always want to love you
and feel so happy
when you are in my bed
every breath
i wanted to dissolve you
and pour you into my heart
bethany is there no rest
do you still see her in your bed
teeth over there
yeah, i know i brought him cigarettes many times and he wanted to be just_friends today
2am only....there's no rest
unhinged .

when you are around
everything disappears


(shit fuck, piss)
unhinged my heart doesn't do things like this anymore. i can't decide if that is good or bad. 141214
what's it to you?
who go