wanderlustful11

Just standard 8 by 15 living and going and growing and feeling other people's art and souls. Probably a parasite a little bird, or fish i think reincarnated into the am or ph ous blob you see today and how hellish is that? the very thought of finally leaving this goulash buffet style world only to turn into something else and learn all of its terrible twists and turns all over again. But who am i to philosophize? my feet are cold my arms are cold but my fingers glow with embers from each word of purge.

I could sit on the moon and drink in the quiet and be friends with my brain again I would probably go to mars next and lay down in the middle of a red dust storm right in the eye and try to apologize for all of the excavating those bully astronauts try to do Then I want to stop by pluto. Tell the little guy he was a great planet. And enjoy the fact that I would be all alone,left to stargaze, with my feet dangling off the smallest world that ever was. Finally, I would pick a star and sort my entire life out. I would apologize, recognize, idolize and then curl up and sleep until that star ceased to exist.

of the most unorthodox kind. singed at the tips and letting out wisps of desperation contamination of the seperate universes that make up neverending cycles of day after day. shuffling to and fro from A to B, promising that after this one things will smooth out and start afresh. it will begin again and again, better and better after this one this one this one is it time yet?

once upon a time, there was a dollmaker a lonley one was she for the only one that looked at her was the wilted ragged tree And this dollmaker, she fixed as well as created for she hated seeing cracks in otherwise flawless faces the dolls were always grateful for the makers help was sublime but they always seemed to hide their friendship, storing it for another time. So the maker waited very patiently of course lest her only friend be the creaking rocking horse When spotted, she sat upright (could this be the day?) only to find that she was really in the way She wouldn't cry that would be the worse So she made a rust sm

There once was a girl who lived in the ocean It was a beautiful ocean, that goes without notion The waters were clear, the sand was so soft The coral and seashells made beauty aloft It was lonley and quiet, but it work out quite well for the fish never whine and the sharks never yell Her loved ones threw her trinkets, made small conversation she assures she's content, full of elation She tells me alone, she's wild and free The least I could do is rid her world of debris.

What happened to my body is a temple? What happened to smiling in the mirror? What the hell happened to feeling for real? This is abuse is frowned upon and yet few take the rope to step forward and offer the wayward some hope Because everyone deserves it right down to the end. Everyone deserves that one outstretched hand Whether to be freed or cured or fixed,its always worth the risk To get away from these chains and take hold of hope because this time, I'll be waiting for you at the end of the rope

Going off in a mile Just to make you laugh, smirk, or smile Do I deserve it? Hardly so But just so you know...

They say the wayward woman died with a smile on her lips. no friends. nor family, she surely won't be missed. Face up in shallow water, pale skin as cold as ice a sign that she was successful of muffling infant cries. some say it was Butcher, or the man in the yellow house either way it ended up with a discarded emerald blouse. The rumors were as scorching as the sun when the town found out another wayward life has begun. a fate she would not share with the unborn she sang to with care under the cover of night, she made her flight and became one with the trees that witnessed it all.

It's in the ink they speak. Carelessly dripping from their mouth It smears across their teeth when they smile their staple-gun smile They never remember the previous chapter, only the image of perfect little words printed perfectly on lily-white parchment. Catch them, I dare you see  what     monsters            they               become.

You're a haunting, haunting white, if I squint and study you're transparent. I can see the places you keep your frustrations and I see where you keep your trueness. It's in your eyes, moon girl. Believe it or not, your irises deceive you. They make you oh so visible. They see the world from a broken heart and feel it with a broken soul. But you have such stardust on your fingertips. Your handwriting both whispering and screaming in your melded works. Just hang in there ok? You'll meet the sky when you're ready, I promise. Besides you can't leave us here. I'll get more upset when the sky is blank, shrugging. and I can't see the moo