ETSY

So I'm jumping on the etsy bandwagon and almost finished creating my page for selling art.

Buy things from me, so I'm not such a poor, pitiful college student.

(ps. I'm not really all that pitiful, but we'll go with it)

ritual

be

I'm not one for giving up

I'll say when I've had enough

And I don't think I'll ever have had

enough

of you.

As space is expanding

we have a choice

and with what little voice I have

I'll make it very clear

I am not greedy, I live to love

If I am anything it is realistic

We are both human, you and I

But the way we mesh is animalistic

If we are to sink or swim

Oh, I'll swim

I'll swim so fast in your direction

Gravitational pull has reversed

Since you are swiftly traveling upstream

But I will fight against the tide

I just want to be by your side

I just want to be

I just want to be

everything to you

because you are

everything to me

And

I am not greedy, I live to love

If I am anything it is realistic

if I can't have you with me

then I'll take what I can get

a

portion

of the

motion

beating

inside

of

your chest

Old Poetry for an Old Soul

Listen,

don’t question me, don’t get me,

just listen.

Broken heartbeat, broken rhythm,

born with the voice of eternity singing,

pronouncing life so precise

until your mouth melts red

Bruise my tongue with cracked words

until it bleeds,

until you blush.

Remember,

you always did surround yourself with fire.

No wonder you’re always getting people burned.

Yet, you only miss the girl you don’t deserve.

Me.

You’re known for giving bouquets of bombs,

those blossoms of desire

that seep under my blazing skin.

That throbbing fever that you give.

Squirm, stagger, perhaps.

Caught by the translucent star in your smile,

cut me free of this stiff web holding me hostage.

As I do time for doing nothing,

such a trusting prisoner,

I never stopped needing and waiting.

You forced me to go to church

where everything you say is sacred,

and I don’t dare to question what you attempt to teach.

The needles, your needles, pierce my lips deep

so that no one else can kiss me goodnight,

while feeding me that champagne flavored poison,

until my vocal chords decay

and I can’t read my misused poetry.

I am your porcelain doll out of proportion,

bound in these chains of carmel perfume,

that is left for the animals to devour

until you laugh.

I may be crazy for allowing this to happen,

that may be right,

but everyone needs someone to tuck them in at three in the morning.

Moustaches, they grow on you.

Just ask my buddy, Dracula

Waning Crescent

The Dead Weather seems to have an obsession with the aggressively sexy, and witchcraft?
Awesome.

90 degrees

The seasons are finally evolving.
Summer has arrived.