Excerpt
Current mood: exhausted
Category: Quiz/Survey

♣ In the summer months I like to play a game; I pretend I'm somebody else. With a new name, matching collar and tapered hat, I journey west to find yesterday's system. Lost in the hustle and bustle, with every train track telling a story, purpose goes without reason. Where I live brings tears to my eyes, come July the entire ground turns to mush, reeking of damp, decaying trespassers, livid with the squirming realisation that their so-called land of prosperity and of baffling reputation is nothing but mirage residue, the psychosomatic land of time and space. We don't fit in over here; we don't fit in anywhere, not even were we dwell.

Brown silk caresses my sapped figure as I stretch out over the old wooden bench. Fifty-five year old stubble rubs against my sodden, pink skin, catching minuscule droplets of my threadbare identity. Splinters, now my only friends, sculpt the area surrounding my upper left thigh. I feel safe; I'm one with my future self. I flip over onto my stomach, my fingers now sinking into a tarnished, russet monsoon. Over half a century's memories now drip from my fingertips, falling into a stream of eloquent heat, running away with a sewn on smile.  

A voice in every corner, a disguised sense in every direction, I know that there's no need to look beyond arms reach. I have my safe haven and I intend to keep it this way. The odd cackle of the old sallow hag, the lonesome window still grieving for her stolen veteran. A dog yelps as it's beaten with a rifle for jumping up at his owner's displeasure. I hear a boom, a voice disguised in a black cloak, travelling towards my area in a perish of dusky smoke. The voice seeps into my skin, nestles inside my spine, a new home for the tired Lord. Penetrated without harmonious wit; I'm no longer my own saint.

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The most beautiful lyrics ever written... for now anyway.
Current mood: sassy
Category: Life

I've been loving you a long time
Down all the years, down all the days
And I've cried for all your troubles
Smiled at your funny little ways
We watched our friends grow up together
And we saw them as they fell
Some of them fell into Heaven
Some of them fell into Hell

I took shelter from a shower
And I stepped into your arms
On a rainy night in Soho
The wind was whistling all its charms
I sang you all my sorrows
You told me all your joys
Whatever happened to that old song
To all those little girls and boys

Now the song is nearly over
We may never find out what it means
But there's a light I hold before me
And you're the measure of my dreams
The measure of my dreams

Sometimes I wake up in the morning
The gingerlady by my bed
Covered in a cloak of silence
I hear you in my head
I'm not singing for the future
I'm not dreaming of the past
I'm not talking of the fist time
I never think about the last

Now the song is nearly over
We may never find out what it means
Still there's a light I hold before me
You're the measure of my dreams
The measure of my dreams

Currently reading : The Book of Secrets By Deepak Chopra

8:42 AM - 89 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

The holy moustache man and me. That’s right, Big Ben.
Current mood: sad
Category: Travel and Places

I had another amazing dream last night. It was the gift of literature. I wrote something amazing on a piece of wood and then later wrote a song... it would have been amazing but I can't remember any of it... apart from sowing a patch onto a shirt in order to rape myself in a field of suppressed desires. Obviously Freud would have loved me.

I thought it was best to update my knowledge of southern England, seeing as I visited London not too long ago to see dearest Nick and his gracious tash of love. The whole experience was somewhat disorientating as all in all we ended up spending over 200 pound for 23 hours. I didn't get much sleep and I saw and thought of some life changing observations. It wasn't amazing but I don't regret it at all, it's been helpful in the expansion of my mind.

The most horrifying sight of which will remain with me for my whole life (sadly) was a 'shoe shining' incident. The look on the mans face will forever leave a stain on my inner telescope. Tilting to the side with a sickly, smug "look at me" expression on his face, he paraded himself as if he were on another planet, all the time not even looking - for one second - at the man doing the job. It was disgusting. And of course, London is full of these diseased souls, who, undoubtedly assume they are too good to walk amongst the other civilians, too holy to let the souls of their feet touch the decaying ground before them, and instead, naturally float along, eyes focusing inwards on their own lives. Nothing exists to them except their mobile phone and brief cases.

The tube was a bizarre experience as well. It was all too weird... I was constantly expecting Creep to appear. I also didn't like standing on the train and falling onto unsuspecting fellow passengers. The station itself put everything in to perspective too. Lashing of homeless people congesting the sidewalks. Mainly underground, whilst over ground the well-off walk over them, head held high. It's almost religious in a sanctimonious sense. The rats and the birds. What a shameful sight.

And everything was too expensive, AND we missed the bus back to Middlesbrough by 3 minutes so we had to buy more tickets and return back to Sheffield for one night. The whole trip was a nightmare, a sweaty, sun burnt and hungry one at that.

Seeing Nick Cave was a beautiful moment nonetheless. Although I wasn't scarred for life as I had hoped I would have been. The whole situation didn't seem real, not in the dreamy sense of "oh my god, it's happening but it's too perfect!" but more like I know I should be here and I want to be here, but deep down it doesn't feel right, I'm not ready for it. Of course I was relieved to see him/them finally, but the atmosphere was all wrong. People were screaming and jumping but I just wanted to listen and learn. Maybe what I need is a private performance :)

I'm certain we shared a moment. Although I often say this, he did see me and I looked to him, not at him but to him, for, I suppose, a sort of guidance. An answer that was destined not to be heard. I wasn't there for the fun of it I was there for something more. Something deeper and more worthwhile, and I didn't get it. Maybe that was the problem. High expectancies. I always expect too much.

Though we did share eye contact and as he sang I held onto every word as if it where his last. Like a great philosopher or a prophet... he isn't a music man, he's something more resourceful and enchanting. A story teller!

Later on I knew I'd had enough and I needed to leave London, if only for the rest of the night. However, we stayed and I got mildly drunk. All the while I was surrounded by strangers, and not the good type of 'stranger' but the type who remains closed, like a flower on the verge of blossoming but in a constant phase of resistance, not wanting to progress or give too much away, but rather focusing on their exterior and how the 'group' easily relate to one another. It's a sad thing - not necessarily a bad thing.

In hindsight, there was two groups, both distant, a couple of members from each occasionally braving the journey (across the room) to ease the atmosphere. It never worked. And as I said, and will quote: "Everyone is melting into one, everyone is the same". Tiredness is a social killer. Managing to slip in a few Jurassic Park quotes I went to bed, I don't know whose bed it was but it was comfy nonetheless, and in the morning I got to read a Big Baby comic. Fabulous times.

I suppose the trip was quite beautiful, in a way. I realised a lot, about crowds and situations and circles... I think it's necessary to move there in aid of my writing. The inspirational blockage fled and I thought of some amazing things, the only problem being the lack of pen and paper. I want to return, and I will for my Birthday... with a supply of notebooks. I'm tempted to move there after uni... the plan was to go to Newcastle or, heaven forbid, Leeds, but London makes more sense. And I fancied Big Ben. The money puts me off though.... one day, maybe :)

4:32 PM - 89 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Careering
Current mood: energetic
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

That was bloody annoying, I just wrote a heart wrenching blog, clicked a link and closed it, only to find the myspace page had become the webpage I clicked on and I had lost my whole rant. Bastards.

I was having a conversation with my Mam about careers and the like, when yet again my chest clenched and I became enraged by the prospect of needing a 'career path' and having to choose a lifestyle. To me that's just a comfort zone, I don't think knowing what you want to do is necessary.

After all it is just WANTING. People I know have wanted a certain career their whole life, they've gone to college, uni etc and in the end did a different job than what was intended. Planning doesn't really get you anywhere. There's backups but they also become safe routes, stopping you from fleeing the scene, preventing you from jumping into a unfamiliar territory.

This year so far, Uni is really just compressing my mind. It's supposed to help me develop, all it's doing is draining me of any artistic involvement. I really can't be arsed with it anymore. I've had enough of art, enough of Sheffield Hallam Uni and just ENOUGH really. I need a break, like a huge change to throw me off balance.

I'm not sure I should be studying art because it has become a chore and I have no enthusiasm for it whatsoever, I think a year out (again) would be a good idea. When I had a tutorial a couple of months ago my tutor asked why I was at art school if I don't value other peoples opinions concerning my artwork. I said to obtain a degree. He asked why. And I went quite giddy and blank.

Why?, that is a very valuable question. Why bother with anything. A degree in art won't exactly get me to great places in my career world. It won't really do anything, well, except remind me of my debt. For what I want to do I don't need a degree anyway. That's what I tend to say. So why am I bothering? Why bother studying art, especially if I'm not personally developing?

It's because... the fear has got to me.

I'll have to get a boring job, a job that I don't want to do (even though I don't know what it is I want to do), I'll have nothing to defer me from the truth. At least at Uni I can live off the title of 'student'. I hate students though, I hate being a student... the arrows are pointing towards quitting, but I don't want to quit I want to see it through, it just seems like a waste of time. This course isn't run like I want it to be. It's all about deadlines and bullshit conceptualism. I don't want a time limit on expressing myself, that's not how it's done, that's not ART. Those paintings I did before Christmas bored the shit out of me, I wanted to burn them by the end of it. And the people on my course frustrate me. I hate contemporary art! It's supposed to be about free speech and expressing yourself, it's just mindless and irritating. People walking around dressed like 20th century French artists, doing something bollocks and filming it to portray existence or poverty or mentality or something equally as nauseating.

I just can't be arsed. So maybe it's the environment I'm in, not the actual course... I want to go to Newcastle and have my work shown in alt.gallery. That place moved me in a disturbing way. That was an experience... experiences shouldn't be questioned, just talked about in a neutral sense... art is an experience not a question. I hate critical teachers... I HATE art teachers...

And when it comes down to it, they're failed artist themselves, brainwashing people. They don't promote individuality, they want you to do things a certain way, or compare or base work on an existing work of art (which, in my opinion, deems research bollocks as well. You can be inspired by something fair enough, but to me inspiration comes from experience. Past, present or future aspirations... not by something which has already been experienced by somebody else. It isn't your journey. You can imagine what it's been like, but then that isn't really inspiration, more just a thought, a thought of what could have been). And also, to look at art, it's inevitable to not become slightly brainwashed by it, thus resulting in your art work looking slightly like what you just saw, I think art should be pure, it's your expression, YOURS DAMN IT!

I was thinking earlier that maybe I should become a careers advisor and advice people not to have a career goal in mind, chances are the goal will end up changing anyway. Then I thought I could be a teacher and teach kids to forgot everything they've learn about 'truth' and 'reality' and come back to school when they're free spirits and open minded and ready to learn. Learn the actual important matters in life such as valuable living.

Fuck material possessions. They don't bring true indulgent happiness. What they do bring is a psychological chemical reaction, which in a sense is the important factor of these objects. Not the physical qualities but the mental.

Then again, I wouldn't promote the obsessive buying of products to be your life long goal. Life is more valuable as a whole. Enjoy living, enjoy your company, enjoy your body, enjoy your mind, enjoy EXPERIENCE.

Drift into worlds that you own. Fuck this world, it's already here and dying. Make your own existence count for you. Dream, wish, free yourself from poisoness limitations. Living has no limitations. Don't dare message me mentioning money. I hate money. I hate the values of money. I hate how people work and beg and slave all day to have money, so that they can buy stuff that doesn't count... Really all that counts is food and shelter etc…

Yet again, I do promote the intoxication of anything that stimulates the body and opens the mind and all it's entirety. Thinking is our only hope. So if materialistic properties do that for you, fair enough.

So back to this 'career' thing. I don't want A career. I want experiences. I want to do lots of things. I want to be a renegade!

And in my opinion, the best way to be is to be free of goals and limitations, they only lead to disappointment anyway. Fuck that 'take each day as it comes' nonsense, although that's a beautiful way to live, it's very unlikely you'll get far, chances are the next day will be a crappier version of the day just gone and a horrid routine on nothingness, disappointment and resentment will follow.

But I do ask that you keep an open mind, hold onto your fantasies and dreams, they can become a reality, depending on which way you look at it.

So from now on when people ponder over the idea of me not having a future plan I'll just laugh and tell them I'm doing what is expected of me. Why do one job your whole life when there's so many different paths to walk down, so many different experiences around the corner. And for me, folks, that is the most important factor of living and careering and existing.

I'm not the type of girl who wants to settle with a family and a 9-5 job that will enable me to buy products which mask my lack of contempt, in order for my progression into the ongoing routine of living.

I hate routine!

I don't want to get married, for me, the law in all it's forms doesn't enter the same realm as love and devotion. If I love someone and I commit to them, what has the government got to do with it? Why do I have to have a legal document to prove I'm 'real'. It's pointless.

I wish I could just get up and go... move away and travel and do everything available to me or everything that I make available to me. A wish... and I never intend to let go of it. It keeps me going. My 'maybe tomorrow' theory :) which I know is a false pretence but it's better than thinking negative in terms of future aspirations. A 'plan' is a scary thought. I like planning though... and I like dreaming, and I like inventing...

I like the idea of doing something important and useful each day. I wrote something beautiful today, I won't say what it is because I'm developing it into something stronger, but the words came to me, I didn't sit and write, they came to me, they attacked me. So I picked up a pen and wrote them down, then as I put the pen back more words came to me and so on... the problem is when you put the pen to paper the words aren't exactly how you thought them, you end up tweaking it. Maybe my career goal should be to mentally remember everything I think of in terms of literature etc...

I think that these changes happen for a reason though.

I'm watching that secret Radiohead gig in London on Radiohead.tv. I mentioned to my music friend Shaun that I listened to Videotape the other day and spent the following two hours crying. Why is that? Does it bring back a memory? Does it pull strings? Is it truly just depressing!? Then I though, maybe musical notes touch certain parts of our interior... the music presses our buttons, plucks our strings and beats us black and blue.... something in us and something out there connect on an unexplainable level, that only we know/own. That is beauty... that's a career!

And do you know what I told my Mam when she asked what I wanted to do?

"I want to be a travelling poet."

x

Currently listening : Drunk on the Pope’s Blood By The Birthday Party

2:48 PM - 89 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

In Rainbows
Current mood: lethargic
Category: Music

My late appointment came on a hung-over Saturday. Sean was being a lazy-head – as usual, lying on a pile of monkey massed junk. I on the other hand was doing my usual 'boss' routine; twittering on about the importance of waking up at a certain time and eating cereal. Today it was Fruit and Fibre. It took me almost 30 minutes to eat it. I did this whilst perched on the end of my bed. Not right but not wrong, not awake but not asleep. All the while feeling rather uncomfortable and bare, the feeling you'd get if you were being watched unlawfully by masses of people in the middle of a shopping centre. I know what I mean, but I didn't at that moment…

Time arose to experience the indefinite. I was still in two minds about the idea of this album. I'd heard a rumour… a rumour that I didn't particularly want to hear; a return to their early sound.

This left me feeling a little hollow.

Early Radiohead is better than nothing I suppose - nothing being practically all other existing music - but I crave experimentalism. I yearned for a progression of their later work. I'm not sure how this would work without it becoming a musical mash of kitchen equipment or a series of remixes based on human sound effects or something equally as exciting! But I knew it was going to be quite hard to follow on - or something entirely new would have to be fashioned.

New Radiohead penetrated me, so to speak. What was I hearing? Something rather basic, something I understood instantly, something I wasn't entirely impressed by. I felt quite awkward listening to it, like I wasn't supposed to be there, like it wasn't my time yet. Maybe this is why I wasn't easily connected with the truth? I looked at Sean, I looked at Chimp, I looked at my Fruit and Fibre, I'm not certain on what my cosmic searching would achieve but it felt like the right thing to do at the time. It didn't help, I was still empty and ultra bemused!

As I've always stated – and will go on to state – the listening and forthright appraisal of Radiohead should always be done with the least possible effort. Lying down, sat down, standing around, vacant and searching, hungry and enthused. A clear, open mind is necessary at all times. These are the rules of having no rules.

However, I felt I couldn't sit around any longer. I started to get ready for the day (what was left of it) ahead. I was in the bathroom contemplating the possible fact that my musical saviours hadn't progressed at all and that the album was possibly worthless in my existence and that I didn't really like it… when I heard something rather strange and beautiful attempting to soak through the door. I stepped out to investigate this further.

It was the fourth track.

After further listening I've come to believe this song is the missing Son of In Limbo. Maybe this explains my pleasure trip. And not to mention my romantically inclined relationship with the bass line which lead me to reassess the significance of Colin Greenwood in a desirable matter – again.

I finally opened up and let it in. And after continually showing my dismay for the title I came to realise why it was named In Rainbows;

"It's like being in a rainbow... rainbows of sound!"

Who knows if I'd still appreciate the album if it didn't have that song on? I probably would – it's Radiohead. How can one doubt any move they choose to do? They're in control and we are but an army of faces, electrically charged with compassion and bemoan. The good thing is the members of the band are stood with us. The music overpowers us, makes us one… makes us see. A custom made cloud of hidden devotion. I love it.

In terms of progression, I'm still not sure. To me it seems that they've incorporated all preceding ideas into one. This isn't necessarily a good or a bad thing; it's just a thing, a matter that doesn't even matter. All that's important is that we have this new piece of beauty to cherish.  And inevitably, with more listens, I'll make its acquaintance. And hopefully will patch up another piece of the hole in my life.

Lyrically, it's a very personal album, except it comes with enough looseness so that we can find our own values within the arrangement. I think it's more upbeat that the other albums, it's not something to cry over, it's more something to feel love over, or find ourselves to.

I'm seeing shapes and colours and all things melodramatic. I'm thinking chimes and purple tinted optimism. Could this be progression? I've never witnessed this before, everything else was self absorbed and melancholic, this however is juvenile naivety and glamorised fascination.

And I got my experimentation! 

12:40 AM - 89 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

Being ’great?’
Current mood: nauseated
Category: Religion and Philosophy

Standing on the outside and looking in,

As apposed to standing on the inside and looking out,

Finding your door in a glass haven;

A door that leads you to something,

That something means everything.

Carve a key from your putrid self,

We hope it unlocks your inner domain,

We hope it lets you through,

Through to your new world,

A world that exists but was never found.

Banish the exhausted lies we swallow,

Hold on tight to ideas of splendour,

A motive through a personal storm,

Scattered emotions in a well of relief,

Being what is proposed,

5:25 AM - 89 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Ranting tissues!
Current mood: cranky
Category: Sports

''Kelly has an ever growing obsession with entering a sleepy, dream world state of mind... super gluing herself into a fairytale pop up book''. It's much more interesting though - trust me. I've recently come to terms with the fact that I'm not awake. I live each day like I'm a different character. To be honest this probably isn't a bad thing... a past mentor told me to be someone new everyday... I blame the people in charge.

Life is much more appealing this way though. Life becomes 'manageable'. And it's fun! You never take yourself or anything too seriously. I don't see a big problem with it really. If you are ever so bored with your original character, why not revamp it? Why not shed your snake like skin, recharge your batteries, take a step back and be someone entirely new?

I'm not sure if it's just me or if this 'disorder' happens to other people, but it's an overwhelming feeling when you suddenly realise you're having a conversation with yourself, seeing a different environment, and acting out a scene (face expressions the lot). It also makes you feel a bit stupid when you realise what you've been doing - in public as well.

The idea of being able to laugh at yourself is great though. Why must we all take everything so seriously? All that does it mentally fuck you up. I've started to laugh at myself more now. I have to. Someone is having a good old laugh at me; making me ill every other day. Maybe it's a sign. Maybe this is the end of the road? Maybe... just maybe... dying is like being put in prison. 'Those in charge don't particularly like where you are going with your imagination/theories so they put a stop to it. Saying that, maybe we put a stop to it. Subconsciously we're in charge...

The brain is a funny thing. You're thinking, but you don't know you are thinking, although you know you are thinking but deep down you are thinking about something else, but part of your brain won't let you think about what you are actually thinking about! Thus blocking it out... possibly because you don't want to/can't deal with it... I guess it's a bit like Doc Oc in Spiderman 2. Gasp! How unripe of me to compare such opposites as these. Fiction and non-fiction! Bloody madness...

Is it what you know, or who you know? Is life what you make it… or are some people just lucky? I'm all for luck. Luck indeed… but it needs to be balanced out. I understand that now. I have quite a lot of luck in certain aspects of my life, but I'm quite unlucky with health etc. It needs to be done though. I suppose most of you can relate to this; a balancing system.

It just seems a bit derisive that the people who work their arses off, providing for others, making the country what it is etc get paid close to nothing and have to deal with a load of shit, whereas the people who order these working class people about, get rewarded with mammoth sized pay checks. You may be beautiful but I did your hair/make up! Yeah that's a nice car but I fixed it you bastard! Life is a bit up and down. I've come to notice that being nice gets you nowhere as well. The people who have made something of themselves are quite frankly; arrogant, pompous shits. Is it the personality of a chunk of cow vomit that gets you where you want to be, or is it the lifestyle that changes you?

I'll tell you in a few years

Currently listening : La Sexorcisto-Devil Music Vol. 1 By White Zombie Release date: 17 March, 1992

4:06 AM - 89 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Toodle poppins
Current mood: nostalgic
Category: Writing and Poetry

Once a week I'm visited by a nameless guest. Our profound intervals leave me emotionally exhausted. As the clock strikes 11.58 on a Tuesday evening; I'm greeted by a timeless, crooked, black shadow that tends to loom over the end of my bed. She tortures my existence. More than often, I turn away and squeeze my eyes shut until small beads of glass dance out of the corners. However, there is no escape as I'm forced to absorb her.

She selflessly treats me to an assortment of theories and stories. Apparently, Wednesday is a strange day. This is why she visits two minutes before the strike of midnight. Time stands still. Sleep is the work of an idle bacterium. Sleeping makes you sick. Closing your eyes for too long will inevitably result in your decease. She claims that the mind becomes confused by the amount of blackness it witnesses; Thus resulting in your bodily functions shutting down.

 If I'm lucky she takes me on an adventure. Today I am lucky.

"In order for one to feel totally at ease with their surroundings, they must engage in a seal of trust with their companion".

 She continues to explain her proposal whilst handing me a cup of crystallized liquid. A dense, slithering mass runs down my dry throat, cutting like glass. Veins combust, skin turns blue, I float towards the ceiling. She is important to me… she understands me.

            I leap out of the window and spray-paint my body with black glitter skies. Throw myself towards the moon in an attempt to catch a falling star; I rebound and I'm left looking foolish. Star splinters embedded in my palms. This frustrates me so I pick up a small, secluded star and compress it between my hands. A trickle of cool, sickly delight charges my robotic body. I feel in control.

            This annoys her so she forces me to sit on a grey chair; knowing full well that the colour brings me out in hives. I've disobeyed her trust and must take this given time to think about my past actions and why my body so forcefully rejects me. The truth is I have no control. I make up of an army of activists; a collection of sections. How dare my brain force other parts of my body to do things they may not feel ready to do. It's a form of bullying.

I'm sorry. I forgot.

            My elfish feet have dreams of their own. It is a personal choice for them to staple photos to their outer layer. If I have an accident, it's not entirely my fault, but that of my wounded body part. Suicide, it was time to move on. Therefore, when I lost a toe, it wasn't the hatchets fault; the toe just felt the need to live in an alternative dimension. It's a love them and leave them arrangement. And that's exactly what life is… an arrangement.

            I suppose I should be grateful for these teachings. Part of me however; despises her every movement. Every word sends a repulsive shudder down my spine. If I try to argue back I'm quickly brought to a halt by her repellent squawk of a so called voice. She once found the need to invent her own language.

 "People are listening in. Only the chosen people are allowed to hear the truth".

So for three months I had to learn a whole new jargon just to please her.   

Currently listening : Talkie Walkie By Air Release date: 17 February, 2004

6:07 AM - 89 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Experience
Current mood: nauseated
Category: Music

I arise on my greying enterprise,

Witness stepping stones and bursting seams,

Surrounded by sweet disguise,

Swim afar for a golden dream.

Walking towards a clear view,

Occupied by my other two,

Passers by all striped and neat

Grovelling briefcase fill up the street.

Keep your thoughts in a cigarette box,

And your sanity in the gutter,

Mutilated body clock,

You make yourself a mockery.

Besieged by intoxication,

A failure through frustration,

They possess this town,

They'll bring you down.

A Season stained with oily pleasure,

Painted on expressions,

Lasting impressions,

Dutiful depression,

…One last glance before it overtakes us.

Currently listening : Sister By Sonic Youth Release date: 11 October, 1994

11:59 AM - 89 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Hot Nuts from the Nut Cellar
Current mood: crushed
Category: Writing and Poetry

I fly towards her dead beat eyes,

Hot latex coat covers her idea of sight.

Sparse lashes spread in all directions,

Cobwebs hang from each and every tip.

I'm losing myself in her royal tarn of influence,

Constantly digging deeper into her route of experience.

Lips as coarse as derelict earth,

Speak words of a secretive understanding.

Whispers journey to a hidden reservoir,

Howl down a bleak tunnel,

Wanting,

Demanding.

I rest my head on bare, fragile skin,

Naively drink from pores of knowledge,

Vortex of evident fascination,

Tainted bodies unite in compelling devotion.

Currently listening : Their Satanic Majesties Request By The Rolling Stones Release date: 27 August, 2002

8:00 AM - 89 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment