words or blood or something by Awasteof-paint, literature
Literature
words or blood or something
we are writers and we're choking on the words, drowning in them, but yet we're still looking everywhere for them. we dig into the emotions, label them with whatever our pens can spit out. sometimes we create our emotions with our words. sometimes it's how we bleed. when we don't know how we feel, it's dangerous because we write and we can convince ourselves that we feel a certain way and we let ourselves dwell in a feeling that was never meant to exist. sometimes life is put on hold until all our blood has been poured out and we're done screaming from the inside, but now it's starting to really hurt. but sometimes when we're dying, we realize
it's one of those moods where, if you were to paint the panic, you'd have to use your own blood just to make the colours honest. one of those moods where road kill does nothing to your insides and you can imagine every car on the other side of the road colliding into you. does it make you shiver? nope. one of those moods where your eyes hurt from crying and your eyelids are so heavy with these bullshit emotions. one of those moods where you ask yourself, "what is one more cut anyway."
it's the mood you feel after your mother calls you ugly and you know if you do just one thing to set her off, you'll get kicked out of here. which, at this poi
The ebbing flowely path of the music
The soft plucking wrapping me in despair
His long like stick fingers and his wide thumbs
On the pulled out strings of a worn guitar
His head hung low, all focus on his euphony
Numb, the air is waiting warm, where the love touches
I sit still in the intensity around me and see in the setting
colors, the agony in our shared bit of time
I look at his gently shaking head of coal-colored swirls
And I know I love this son of tragedy
We are alike in ways of unfortunate coincidence
So this musical whisper is well recieved by us
Alone on the swings
To mouth the words dripping bloody emotion.."I love yo
thick with nightmares by Awasteof-paint, literature
Literature
thick with nightmares
the voice on the answering machine, a lover:
listen, I keep seeing my death everywhere, in the almost car-crashes and the road kill. all that blood on the road, that is my blood. I stare at my veins and I close my eyes and I see my blood pouring out. I stare at what keeps me alive and I see my own death.
listen, I swear, the world is as quiet as water dripping from a watering can onto a flower- there's absolutely nothing else in the background, just that, until it happens- until your heartbeat races and your head sounds like one hundred school children chattering in the hallway after the bell rings on a Friday afternoon. it is loud like bei
how it echoes, disgusting by Awasteof-paint, literature
Literature
how it echoes, disgusting
a poem about dirty rain
blood thinning with whiskey swallowing
hair thinning from the cancer;
places to hide and reasons for the heaviness
what weighs our brains down
vomitous and tangled;
a poem about the music
where it comes from, where it goes
and the loneliness
why it happens and why it stays.
a poem about gross bodies
once clean and once touched;
breathing air stale and dark
looking into her mirror to see
that she is crying, little girl,
lost; little bones, shaking;
tears in her kitten's fur.
a sadness that breathes
in the fog and can be heard
through the walls.
film over our eyes and
this is how we sleep,
this is w
soft and stabbing me by Awasteof-paint, literature
Literature
soft and stabbing me
strange how the words leak and just get tucked into the past. strange how it disappears like water down our throats. music plays until it sinks into my skin, becomes a soundtrack to my mind. no longer a difference between noise and my thoughts. I dig into myself. I dig in real, real deep. dig into the blood and the violence and tear at the heartbeat.
when you're half asleep, the cars on the highway almost sound like a terrified scream fading. I jumped up, convulsed. life can be beautiful when you're really only half there, when the sounds aren't real and the sights are hallucinated.
I close my eyes and I'm in a half-dream in a forest and I