sometimes i
throw your name into search engines
to find where you are
what are you surviving
do you wonder about me
i do
im so sorry for how i left you
i hope you are better

You are my sweet sin, my only demon
And when I think about you,
There is no escape, no way back,
Loving you is like drowning peacefully in the dark
Because our love is reckless, but it’s real too
And if it’s real, it has to bring a little chaos
It has to give a thrill that you’ve never met
And it will certainly bring a happiness
That you’ve never experienced before
And probably, will never experience with somebody else..

A  monkey  cap
is  needed   to
protect   my  head
so  i  have  to
earn  to
purchase   that  thing.



AN  OLD  BICYCLE
IS  NEEDED  FOR
ENVIRONMENTAL  F­RIENDLY
ENERGY.


MY    HEART  WILL
WORK  PROPERLY

   AND    
  
   THE  WHOLE  BODY
WILL  EXERCISE.


AN   OLD  MODEL
HANDSET   IS  REQUIRED

TO  LISTEN   FROM
RADIO.



IT   WILL   ALSO     SUPPORT  THE
HEART'S  HEALTHINESS  AND
FOR OTHER  PARTS
ALSO.

Does it make me
Strange
To crave connection,
Does it make me
Weird
To demand respect.
Am i other
For asking for more
And expecting
To be treated
What I’m worth
And am I
Wrong
To see love
In such wild
Caricatures
That all prove
To be
Light
And smoke

Cubism an ugly distortion, criticised in comparison to fine art. Look at those shameful, jagged and unpolished edges. But no, change your perspective. These deviations are the very building blocks that allow us to tower over those who once marginalised difference. Those who rejected the ‘other’, for fear of refracting their own reflections in the opposition. Inevitably they’re left face to face with the ‘ugly’ perceived in here.

sometimes, it's the songs without words, the ones that slip silently beneath the undercurrent, that will seek you out,

that will sing you the terrible story of crows to mend your heart, that will whisper what no one will tell you because it's your soul manifest, it's your heart reaching out --

they open themselves slowly, but you have to be careful with them; you have to look

at them from afar, and bow, and maybe then, she will open her mouth to you, where not words but wisteria lie, where not passion but pain rest, where everything raw and immaterial pours out in the haze and panic of devolution in the chaos of the earth and skies and all that suffers in between where in the center of the swirling mass amidst the high cries of sorrow and love will be her

and just,

   her ,

some songs will move you, shift the light through you, shift the pedestal of surety and blow it right away.

some songs will obliterate you, but most will hold you.

and when they'll release you, you will fall, and it will be so glorious and so terrifying that you will become a god in the storm and you will know, truly know, then, what it is like to be immortal, to be unhurt and untouched, unmoored and unbridled, impossible against the possibilities of a mortal existence.

you will deify.

We were drawn to each other — almost instantly. A broken boy and a damaged girl who found comfort in each other’s company. A story old as time but this one rang more true. Though we found the love we desired, we still had depression, but for two.