i am miserably lonely.
some people have the ability
to be lonely in a careless,
or maybe even graceful way,
but i rarely manage.
my roads are winding. dark. misleading.
i’ve been waiting for a very long time now,
a very very long time longer than ever,
but every little adding moment
i managed to convince myself
that it was worth it
as there was no other way.
i own the most wonderful t-shirt in the world
with leopards and creatures and famous
ladies dressed in star-capped elegance
revolving beneath the diamond sunshine
alongside pretty purple bags
lugged merrily around the world
of faint memories
tickle-tickle the front door of her sensitive heart
the twinkling-twinkling candle within
her fragile house of cards
patterned cards precariously
climbing one by one by one again
and another climb
she can hear their flickering-flickering giggle
she can feel their leaping giddiness
and hesitantly lets them in her
so they may jump and play
a past worth reliving
that look, i will never forget | words by goldfish_
That look, i will never forget. Was it the trace of time and emotion already?
The embodiment of inhuman or the most human power?
On her face, the beautiful unspoilt face of a three-year old?
On her face, what did i discover?
Will i ever find her in the impossible labyrinth of human personality,
in the backwaters of indescribable, concealed pain,
never realised, never spoken of?
Will i ever be able to find her in that heap of blurry photographs
of a childhood more beautiful
a heart more open
than i ever
dared to imagine.
lips soothed by
herself into a
little blue-eyed ball
sunlight softly unfurls
its warm blanket
upon her frail
she hopes it embraces her
as vividly as its
images by “goldfish_” :: link to original post no longer exists :: mod
remixed image & words by “xjaymanx”
exactly nineteen years old– not old
behind the glass
nineteen fishes of gold– not gold
within the bowl
nineteen pairs of shoes bought and sold
nineteen slices of strawberries so bold
nineteen tears left in the cold
nineteen secrets untold
nineteen– not exactly nineteen
look up– over there–
a window dance with her towel– no, her curtains
pushing away with her left
reaching back with her– right there
contrasts in trance
the hazy daytime wanders
through her instinctive angles
her luminous shadows
her sand-dune spine cups the nomadic light
for a breathless moment– yes, look there
it is gone