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Literatureironi. the polaroid of the angel statue, her stone face rotted away. what happens when even the immortal rock sickens, the untouchable collapsing beneath the gentle lips of time? of course we had known, but only in the vaguest of senses, like an evening fog that bears the first chill of winter on a creeping hand. our hearts were pits of ashes. not enough material left inside to spark a fire, much less feed its ravening hunger for more than a few charred days. how to cut the weights chained to our ankles with only our hands—fingernails and teeth. the liminality of public transport; how the planes and trains became a white room, indistinguiAll

Literatureironi. the polaroid of the angel statue, her stone face rotted away. what happens when even the immortal rock sickens, the untouchable collapsing beneath the gentle lips of time? of course we had known, but only in the vaguest of senses, like an evening fog that bears the first chill of winter on a creeping hand. our hearts were pits of ashes. not enough material left inside to spark a fire, much less feed its ravening hunger for more than a few charred days. how to cut the weights chained to our ankles with only our hands—fingernails and teeth. the liminality of public transport; how the planes and trains became a white room, indistinguiFeatured

Literatureblackestturning to ashes, everything we touch, this is a toxic city. & i still love you i still love you i still love you. i kiss your fingers in my sleep. i kiss the inside of your wrists, your elbows, your collarbones, all your bones. you whisper 'we are unholy, awful people' into my spine & i know you're right, you're always right. you hit an ashtray with your arm & scatter the ashes all over the sheets. neither of us clean them up. the ashes coat our skin & get stuck in our hair. we sleep in the ashes like we can carry them as parts of each other; somewhere, but not here. not here with the curtains closed & the shadows that struth vs poetry

Literatureairit was always you, i just couldn't see it. i lost you but you never lost me; you thought you did. i am iron at your side and in your side. how could i ever leave? you are the only thing that could possibly matter. i could hold on to you until i don't exist anymore but i am so careful, i will be so damn careful, to only remember the dreams of you in private, just know the others were not unimportant but next to you they might as well not have happened at all.NaPoWriMo 2013

Literature1: an introduction of sorts The thing was that my mother continued to insist that the ceilings in our house were low, thereby ignoring the obvious, which was that her son was a giraffe. It wasn't the fact that she was trying to kill me with kindness that bothered me, it was that she was pretending to not see what was right in front of her eyes. In fact, my entire family (which consisted of my parents and the stray cousin or aunt that sometimes dropped in unexpectedly from obscure places such as Majorca) had a way of glossing over the fact that I towered above them like an obscenely tall office building. They'd crane their necks back and squint up at me and say, "Why, TAnesthesia Lessons

Literatureedinburghdragging your feet out the back door with a hunk of kryptonite tied around your ankle; that clowder never brought you down much cat-scratches across your arms when you were a boy, your parents told stories in their easy scottish dialect; they placed a kitten in your lap-- you looked into its bluemoon eyes and imagined it was dreaming about ruling the world. someday, they told you, you'll meet someone and it will be a moment that will change your life forever; that was when their charming discourse turned harsh and ragged-- just like your aunt kathy, whose clothes were always stained with nicotine-- forever was like breathing toNa-Po-Wri-Mo 2012

Literatureto mute your gloryyou remember these hallowed halls being the fruits of your black-eyed nightmares your bare feet sliding over malachite marbles and it hurt, didn't it? you used to cry out in your sleep you forgot after a while, and the ram-horned men became ram-horned girls, sliding about in gauze-thin dresses through the hollow doors of sin and you left stranded at the center of the waterfall a bit of queen anne's lace clutched in your palm as you passed under the arches someone whispered "a good man doesn't drink" into your ear and you laughed as you ascended to the pulpit shoeless, jeans ripped, with some leftover glitter beneath your eyes yDevious Folder

Literatureunion st. clarethere were too many people at the show for the size of the venue it was in and i didn't know most of them, but they weren't important so it didn't matter how can i explain it when you walked into the room i think everyone could tell anyway because fuck me if i didn't prop myself against that thin plaster wall and try to look like i wasn't not not expecting it or like it didn't matter to me either way everything was loud, and the freshmen were playing 80's hair metal covers but it didn't even matter because i was looking at you and you were looking at me but not at the same times and i'm not a fan of change, but i fell for the you that you aScraps

iron by ssleep, literature

lost without by ssleep, literature

unsaid by ssleep, literature

double paisley nightmare by ssleep, literature

horsepoems by ssleep, literature

and so but like by ssleep, literature

runic cross 1 by ssleep, literature

something something 'a map of your body' by ssleep, literature

falling for you by ssleep, literature

why i'm scared by ssleep, literature