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of rushed words and hushed thirsts
mellowman

the wave, the surge

Some call it love and some call it sex.
opposites.
Call it what you want, but with one touch and you’re gone, so call in sick.
Human politics, from whispered hushes and distant crushes.
Mental fits breakin’ pencil tips and
inkin’ brushes.
Simple rushes.
God makes man and this is the devil's finishing touches.
- Butterfly Effect -

alfresco

beat, rhythm
questions, answers

movements





brief traces

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Thursday, December 25, 2014

There was once a boy who was afraid of words. Words uttered and words meant, he felt, were never the same. He realised this as soon as his mother whispered how beautiful he was even when his face was the source of teasing and amusement. He wasn't ugly, but he wasn't beautiful either. What word could describe the streak of scar running angrily across his face. The left eye drooping into a saggy sack of exposed veins and white black blue red. The mouth split into two sides, the lips undiscernable and broken and disconnected. The face that would never be a whole, but an assemblage of cracks and pieces of skin puckering into perpetual horror. He wasn't ugly, and he wasn't beautiful. He was a monster. And that's what they called him.

There was once a boy who was afraid of words. Because words hurt him and beat him up into a spiral of wretchedness, one he is unable to ascend above. Because words sometimes told you the truth, and truthfully, it never helped.


♥ 5:22 PM


Monday, December 1, 2014

Like it was wrong to be me. But now idgat anymore, takes too much energy. Which can be both good and bad. But Imma do this anyway.



♥ 11:54 PM