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SoundsSad
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Name: passion délicate
Birthday: 6/10/1900
Gender: Female
Interests: autumn, apples, brown, bands, colour, cds, clouds, dancing, dreaming, drowning, elequent items, emotions, feelings, hardcore, hoping, hugs, holding hands, illusions, jump rope, kisses, love, lyrics, markers, moon, netherlands, necklaces, notebooks, phone calls, photoagraphy, peircings, pillows, rain, reading, sleep, smiles, slippers, songs, stars, snow, sunsets, talking, tattoos, wishing, writing, being unique,myself.
Occupation: Student
Industry: Art
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  soundssosad
Member Since:
10/22/2004
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| I hate that these come out so damn small.. here's a few new pictures
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| In the ceramic desert, you called to me. I created you from other people, your body and your wit. What a nice desert, hiding my crimes and punishments. Holy innocents that aren't golden calves. "Only the meek...and then we have coctails." So bare and strict and bland, there's a blue sky ahead and all the posibilities ahead, many ways to paint the desert that is too vast to keep on lock and key.I don't see your melting clocks or microwave burritos. Just everything painted in bleak house desire. All the possibilities piled atop establishments, like old clothing companies."Our creative directors are 80 year olds and then we sleep, we tip over under titles and forget to breathe, we read books on breathing, we keep these books near, we watch social change, and then we sleep."Tip-over person, cherry-flavoured push over, to be touched is all we want, this isn't Latin or seventh wedding planning 800. How ever did you get into that class? You were born human you say? In a alternate, concrete, styrofoam, rock jungle? You must do all these things as the clock goes flash? It has no sympathy and your inner gravity wants to live in Hell sometimes no matter how much you lacquer and pray? You have enemies who say hello and give you answers with love and warm places to lay your head in a box for lemon cheesecake? There's some people that you know who's kisses last for twenty pages? Some people who die with only bloodlines and never any on their brows? In calculus lines eventually meet? We're all living in interiority? What is there to realize? Should we wander? What is there to wander? You're leaving me to stack books that you've written in the drawing room of your heart's mind, mind of heart, heart of mind? plié et fin.
 Wake up beauty.
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| Every image, an adult image?
Evening hours, girls in grey gauze. Night hours then black with daggers and eyemasks. Poetical idea pink, then golden, then grey, then black. Still true to life also. Day, then the night.Language of flowers, they like it because no one can hear. Or a poison bouquet to strike him down.The night has ended, go in peace."And then it all began so quietly; I said nothing to you when I was born. I first saw a ceiling and I knew something was up.There's no room for shattering any glass no matter what they say. What case # am I? Press 1 to turn in lifelong complaints." Homosexual side effect. And a clear life ensuing. | | |
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& i hope one day i can show you how i collected every star from the sky and kept them in my garden of doubt. I planted them in my soil and watered it with my tears, i grew wishes that would never come true. That is all until you came. & now those wishes are shooting off like fireworks and i'm pressed hard against the stone walls in utter amazement.
I treasure our conversations and count myself lucky to have your love. You tell me you hallucinate about me and that you got drunk with Karen O the other night. How last night you were going on a sacavanger hunt for Conor Oberst. How cute i thought it would be for you to make out with him, baby i know it's not your scene.
& i try so hard to keep those bad dreams at bay. The ones where i fail you and kill you all in the same moment. Where you tell me you don't love me and that i'll always be sleeping with that ghost of my long lost lover. I know better than to think of him as anything real anymore. He's dead and i just make up excuses.
You've become my one and only papercut. My one and only. You are not my pain and even when we fight i can't imagine anyone else i'd rather fight for. It's always you. When i dream our dreams you know i'm always wearing that polo shirt that kind of looks like yours. My hair is messy and my lips are cracked. But you love me for all of that. And you, you're always wearing that outfitthat jared leto wears in requiem. You have messier hair than me and you have a cigarette in your mouth.
But baby, i'm scared. I'm scared that we might just rip each other apart just to see if our hearts are really true. If they really say I love you. & if forever is just until something better comes along. But i dodn't think that there is anyone better. | | |
| I walk really slowly on the road. "There are no paintings outside." But then again I have no interest in paintings. "Art becomes me or something." Maybe I walk slowly because I think I'll be caught up in something happening since I've never really wanted to be something that just took place. Often, I call myself a thing, not a prized possession but just a thing. Things usually don't give themselves up the way I do, slowly manipulated. And then after the days are over I can look at myself and the mirrors aren't cracked, just cracked with manipulation and guilt that isn't there. I sing a lot, I dance a great deal, I smile, and look emotionless. I look in mirrors while walking slowly. The swimming pools pass me as well as the trees on the sides of the roads. Something will happen tonight.
"Something will happen tonight." while the leaves pass me by and the moon glints of the shallow pools i call eyes. | | |
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