I Bleed Words Sometimes

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Let’s Toil

Let's Toil

Work like a Trojan,
Plough through the day,
You see, for love,
Life is a small price to pay.

Beyond The Horizon

mitchellez:

#NewPost on the photoblog:

Beyond The Horizon,

Originally posted on Selcouth Paracosm:

Beyond The Horizon

Beyond The Horizon,
Far Outlying,
There’s A Place Called Home.

View original

Covetous

mitchellez:

My new blog on travel and beauty.

Take a look.

Originally posted on Selcouth Paracosm:

Covetous

You look over at the sea with covetous gaze.

But what you covet you know not.

View original

Sorrow In A Cave

Nan Goldin.

The rebellion of the sorrow in a cave, temptress on walls and a blade to succumb too.

Let’s drill deep, further seep, into the shell. So safe so dark so at home why won’t the edges blur? Why won’t the world melt?

Scratches along the walls, the wolf behind this cage. How shallow seems the sand and how horridly the edges peel away.

You can’t hear him howling, nor can you feel his pain. You can only stare at the ferocious creature. So tamed by his own rage.

Writhing in my own monstrosity, I envelope in the arms of heartache, Fuming I curl helpless, bleeding on my own page.

The wolf peering at me through the mirror. Is it me I should be afraid of? Or is it the human face that hides the monster?

Stalk slow, Die slow. A tyrant stirs, Resilient every feeling so crippled. It’s my wake, your memory and the their ripples. . .

So engulfed in your wrath that you spill from your bones. Blood to dry your tears. Hope to slaughter love. Laugh you sinner.

Jeer while you can, the tides may turn and the caves may light up. Hope lies in shadows of fears, dare to love and fear to breathe

Blithering wind. Scorching warmth. Are you not frightened of the agonizing, terrorizing nothingness? Your soul withers.

My soul withers where wombs lay bare, as pure as sin and half as fair. Stones unturned and sorrow I’ve had my share.

Yet I smile with my life laid bare. At your feet. Where you kick and curse. Sweet.

I scream everything down, the caves painted grey and love burnt for warmth. Hide…hide…hide.

Reality Eve Arnold.

~ By Varun Chakravarty & Mitchelle Rozario Jansen

Checkout Varun’s other works on http://stateofmaroon.wordpress.com/

Evanesce

Thorsten Schnorrbusch

Slowly fading, like the setting sun.
Do you belong to some,
Or to none?

Music drifts further away,
It’s the way of this world.
Never to stay,

Are you watching me smile,
insincere though,
turn away, let me cry a while.

Hold me in your arms,
Then disappear
When I’m calm.

I won’t cry, I promise you,
Please let me be
The one you go to

I’ll listen as you speak,
Will forever
your secrets keep

Just one small promise I seek
You’ll say goodbye
Every time you leave.

Now what?

Tim Walker

 

Now what?

Should I just let the door CLOSE, and shut out the voices?

Or should I fight, knowing it’s a lost battle?

 

Now what?

Should I pick up the pieces?

Or should I DANCE on them and watch the colours unfurl!

 

Now what?

Are you going to just WATCH as I bare myself, moment by moment, piece by piece, one by one, to one and all?

Aren’t you going to stop me? Slap me? Shake me from my trance?

Do you delight in my reverie?

 

Now what, sweetheart?

Now what?

Is there no beginning after this end?

There should be, the stories say so,

Legend says so

History isn’t going to REPEAT itself?

 

But mama made me believe…

And I believed. Sadly, I still do.

This is going to CHANGE, right darling?

You’ll wake up any moment now,

Abandon your grave and hug me tight?

 

I can’t hear you.

You’re scaring me!

Don’t joke with me anymore!

Just SPEAK to me once baby,

Tell me love…

Now What?

Beautiful Mess

20131227-000651.jpg

She sunk further in to the mess she, so beautifully, created,
Every fissure carved out with love,
Every hammer rammed through with passion,
Every cut traced out and made with precision,
Meticulous detailing of the cracks,
Scratched out blue wallpaper…

She breathed the mess through her soul and it came to be!

Her inspiration, you ask?

Oh! nothing really,

Just her heart.

Just her old, tattered, torn, little heart.

The Talking Desk

transcribed by Suezelle

Selcouth Paracosm

Strange, unusual, rare; marvellous world invented by me. Fantasy or not, you decide.

Life as it is

My scribbles

mydesertdiaries

The Desert Diaries by Adrine D'mello

S.R. Tooms ** SITE MOVED **

www.srtooms.wordpress.com

J T Weaver

“When you've got nothing, you've got nothing to loose.” - Bob Dylan

rowena2020

My musings, writings, photography & friendship shared on WordPress.com site

johncoyote

Poetry, story and real life.

Thrum

Writings from the dark side of life!

InkBlood

Writing from the vein

namswords

My modern-day Pensieve. Since Dumbledore took the last one away with him.

Unpretentious are these words!

It's a perception oriented universe, but yours is not taken.

Psychedelic

My thoughts

Words Create Magic.

Words, arranged in the best way possible. Giving you meaning of life, love and everything. Words definitely are magical.

What The Mind Licks

Puns - Intended. Oxymorons - NOT. Morons - Not at all

Dreaming Colors

Reveries of a Reckless Fool

hughiegibson author

blogging whats in my head

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