i was painting your picture,
but it turned out to be myself.
November 8, 2010
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
subscribe to my blog!
Posts
All Comments
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Posts
All Comments
but not so much..
Posts
All Comments
quiero tus flores en mi corazon
i'll love you even in death
my other half
Bukowski
not wanting solitude not understanding solitude they will attempt to destroy anything that differs from their own not being able to create art they will not understand art they will consider their failure as creators only as a failure of the world not being able to love fully they will believe your love incomplete and then they will hate you and their hatred will be perfect like a shining diamond like a knife like a mountain like a tiger like hemlock their finest art
feliz de los muerte
warmth
My hair is knotted and tangled,
But that doesn't bother me anymore.
I don't believe in god,
And I've been to church.
I don't feel the spirit,
But I see the faith bearers every day.
How nice it must be to always have someone to talk to.
I always have something to talk to.
Trees, flowers, the sun.
Does he reply back?
My things don't,
But I know they're listening.
I wonder, do the believers always feel loved?
I'm always warm in the sun.
But that doesn't bother me anymore.
I don't believe in god,
And I've been to church.
I don't feel the spirit,
But I see the faith bearers every day.
How nice it must be to always have someone to talk to.
I always have something to talk to.
Trees, flowers, the sun.
Does he reply back?
My things don't,
But I know they're listening.
I wonder, do the believers always feel loved?
I'm always warm in the sun.
burned out
Don’t look at me like that. Like you’re reading my soul. Like you still possess love for me. I can see it in your eyes, but I don’t feel it. The apathy is making me numb. Maybe that’s best. Your touch is now just a touch, and sex is just sex. The fire’s been extinguished with no rationing of fuel. There still might be some embers underneath it all. But you don’t feel like digging, do you? When you do, you’ll only find soot.
future happiness
I want a tree in the middle of my house with a porcelain clawfoot bathtub underneath. In the fall, the leaves will shed and form a brilliant mosaic of orange and red over the soapy water. Blossoms will bloom in the spring and flutter to the floor, covering the wood with a blanket of white delicacy. It'll be so refreshing.