birdluvr109

songs of skipping stones, cranes wavering in the darkness; her eyes are glowing in the light- never to be seen again.

she is dust mites and the worn-out leather in jeans, a faint melancholy trapped in its own captivity. she wears porcelain for a face, because she was too quiet to say "no" once they changed her. it is a shell that binds strictly her feelings to her organs, like a straitjacket, and she keeps it all stored in her ribs, so her heart always suffers while it remembers what it was foolish enough to keep silent, its mouth zipped solemnly shut. her eyes are clear marbles with airy designs wrapping intricately about its circular interior, to show that she is too good, too pure, to have feelings like everyone else. there lies nothing but blankness with

i.) screaming words in the dead of night, you. awkward-eyed blue-sapphire child like saucers. cyan ocean. feather artist. {flyer} savior. best friend. words-etch never beat you down, special fourth-grade flute-memoir of mine. beautiful little past-held talent. a stargazer at four am beats. warm-winter hearted airbrush-traveller. ii.) running horses. vast, wisteria-gold fields and curiousity at sun-peach dawn. young friendship. hawks and soaring eagles over blistering sky-mountains. summer children through watering fields, creating little pools in a summer river and moss. book-screamer. {all} genius-falling water. history of victorian-lit lov

i want to scream, dear world. i want to rip, tear shred everything! that makes me think of you. i want to drown you in a musty scented, moss-covered well like the little sick-minded orphan you are, and sit there and smile as your measly prune-lungs deaerate into the grayness, filling with our drinking water, coughing like an weakened, rabid animal, head beating blood, the  t i c k , t o c k  of the so many bitter moments you'll only have left before i'm the last thing you see, and then you'll be burning and deflagrating where i can't see you anymore. and i'll finally be happy. you'll be like an empty mirror for my mind. {e m p t y

everywhere around me, they're all crying. blankly, i gaze at their eyes in the accumulating snowfall and see glass and outer redness, tears streaming down most faces and sniffles spread like wildfire prolifically through the air. we're all near one another in a mass of huddled black, and i'm shaking from the intense cold. there are marines in heavy navy uniforms and white-base hats before me, folding an american flag before the casket with beautifully blank statuesque faces. someone wails to the right of me, and breaks down sobbing. i struggle not to look up because i know it will all hit me, but eventually do besides my thoughts. she's eng

it's hard to hold something [within a broken heart that] you never had in the first place.

because at 6:17 sunset, and 7:16 sunrise, each of the planets were already claimed, so i decided to ask "Who made God?" and took a bright white-yellow diamond dwarf, hid it inside my pockets, and named it "everyone", but sometimes called it "everything".

they called her nightmare because they felt no term would suit her better. with such scary, deep eyes empty like black holes, they were easy to compare to darkness. with a face like a spider's body, hair a dark, messy web, she was an arachnid that climbed up ceilings to see the moonlight shine through the window onto your face. little did we know, however, she was the nightmare that really was just a blessing in disguise. she was just an angel with clipped wings and a complex mind, but wielded a heart wider than an ocean.