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Triumphand text or call me ok to get in touch!!
Later lil bitches
Stone
Newest
A new voiceTal was the picture of normal as he walked down the street, his stride the dark purple hoddie and matching biking gloves. His brown hair past shoulder did not even catch a eye. Tal could see her he just hoped his strength would hold out her call was so loud it was all he could hear. As he rounded the corer of the block he found her alone in the play ground, in a purple dress with her big brown eyes staring directly at tal.A new voice
As he walked towards her gray mist covered his body and as it cleared were once there was a 5'6'' 22 year old there now stood a 6 foot 3 inch tall Purple Fox Man. as the girl looked around to
by ~Priest-of-blades
Heart in a BagHeart in a BagHeart in a Bag
Well, fuck it. 'Cause this poem, well it ain't that important, Nope it going to solve world hunger or help me get a job. Fuck no. No, it won't help me get a scholarship. Will it get a million dollars? Fuckin' doubt it. But know that you, writing in your little score book, I have one thing to say.
"STOP. LOOK AT ME WITH THOSE COLD DEAD FISH EYES!" Fuck on, just look at me. I put my heart on a display case and you
cut it to fucking pieces so now I don't have one
so just listen I don't need to love or live the lie. Who the fuck are you to
by ~Priest-of-blades
Tracing lines in your handsTracing lines in your hands like the waves of time in the sea of sand, following rivers of lifetimes past the edge of sight cold blue flames bleed beyond the scope of tradition, Pale skin sculpted like snow in the hands of divinity with ice and moonlight set in summer petals of ivory your breath sings past the coral of your lips blowing the scent of forest and cherry petals in winds carrying notes sung in Babylon and Gall twisted around the songs of the violin, and angel cries of passionTracing lines in your hands
You speak in tones of galaxies and super novas remarking of creation and
by ~Priest-of-blades
Bone White PorcelainRed, swirling morning glories bloom on bone white porcelain, painting a snowy mountain top with a flowery path leading to the only shelter, a dark cave. Light yellow-pink petals pull back to reveal dark nectar and ropey stems leading back to the untouched flesh, i feel if I can only find the ends, I may just find peace. Still, I never find the ends. Just more painted mountain tops with bloody trails leading to a drain pipe cave systemBone White Porcelain
and life. Yet the gory trails did lead me somewhere. Stems and agony led me to the ocean of fear and hate, then to the shores of bel
by ~Priest-of-blades
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: co colprado springs
- Interests: food love art and my poems
- Favourite movie: 13 warrior
- Favourite genre of music: teckno and metal
- Favourite artist: me or twige
- Favourite poet or writer: me or poe
- Favourite photographer: mom
- Favourite game: star craft
- Favourite cartoon character: lava
- Personal Quote: I'll die sone but first you must die
- Tools of the Trade: fist, pen , knife, love and hate yha thats boute it
- Email: E_Thereal_Serpent@hotmail.com
- AIM: AustontheAngel
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i like your poetry. its very... how can i say... i think that its like fire.
c-ya.
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kuroringo@live.com.mx
Even if you are just eating Watermelon.
Brenda Obregon
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"We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love."
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"We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love."
--
"We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love."
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