kmills95

The beauty of the one that captured my heart is certainly enough to stop it. The beauty of the one that captured my heart is certainly enough to start it.

My tongue may turn still As my heart turns to stone And until my final breath is drawn I stalk, looking north Till I see these woods again

There it lies, all alone Amongst the dark and cold An ember small from the distance shone That it might yet come alight Tried I have to raise the flame For warmth I'm yet to feel To no avail, perhaps this night The frost shall run its course

I was feeling restless, like I wanted to die, but also like I wanted another biscuit with jam on (''to soften it, darling, they’re a little bit stale.'') -My aunt Ivy with lipstick on her teeth, her voice crackling like a static radio. I tried to write a poem, but instead wrote his name on my palm in fountain pen, watching the ink bleed slowly into the cracks, and considered baking a batch of cinnamon rolls. Then I read the first three pages of four different books, (Waugh, Bukowski, Vonnegut, Nin), drank half a cup of black coffee and rolled a cigarette but lost it somewhere amongst the fibres of the shag pile rug. I think Audrey ate

5'8. 36, 25, 38, it'd be nice. long, healthy blonde hair, blue eyes, typical caucasian female. miles of legs, straight toes, collarbones of a model, yeah. how pretty, yeah. how pretty. i went in for a checkup, momma made me get my blood panel done. it's always the same.  blood pressure, check my ears, hold me down for the life that runs inside me because needles are nasty.  she made me step up to the wall.  my mother snorted. she made me step onto the scale. my mother 'tsked.' i'm half asian and the other half white and i couldn't give a damn about what i would have to give up to be either or. 5'2. 46, 32, 48, give me a break. the man in th

i) the crook of my arm is blue once more. a round bruise, a globe of the earth, laced with green. a little world in the boomerang curve of my elbow, which i peer at from far away. - (i’m sorry little arm, i know you’re sick of blood tests. i know you’re fed up of all the poking with needles, to check up on my poor struggling liver. i’ll tell it i’m sorry for starving it, too). ii) i’ve decided to take up space in the world again, to make myself part of it, join in. but i’m like a wobbly child strapped to a car-seat on a long nauseating journey to the beach. a child clutching a puzzle book in their

The damage is done, I have no one No one to smoke midnight cigarettes with No one to ask the question "what if"? No one to hurt When I need something to break No one to blame For my stupid mistakes I know the damage is done But why do I feel that I have won?

I. sarcasm leaks out of my mouth similar to the way blood flows from a wound: fast, relentless II. i have the same fascination with love as a small child may have with butterflies: i know i'll never catch it but i chase after it anyway III. awkward, adj. embarrassing or inconvenient; caused by lack of social grace IV. piano music isn't piano music unless it sings like a minstrel on a cold rainy day the notes sharp with melancholy and discord as eighth notes and metronomes fall around me in a serenade to the angels we will never behold V. thorns may remind me of the feeling i get when i see you: pain but the petals, soft as down, keep me

I. I think in poetic verses. Anything can be my muse. I think too hard on how to capture this moment in black ink I forget to live in it. II. How will I ever become a writer if I don't even believe in my own abilities? If I want to make a name for myself, shouldn't I at least believe I can? III. I have an addiction. At first it was manageable just a few minutes a day, but it slowly got out of hand, 10 minutes, 30 minutes, an hour. Now I need more, more, more. Late nights isolated in my room, sitting in my bed with heavy bags under my eyes but not ready to sleep, terrified of what it's done to me. What DeviantArt has done to me. IV. "Wh

With the beauty of angels and the wickedness of the devil, faeries are said to be the children of heaven and hell. You, my dear, must be a faerie with a frightening beauty and the power to twist my heart into making me love you so.