

she wasshe was melting quicksilver. she was pink and plastic and all quiet on the western front. and she was the closest an expatriate could ever come to home, measured in Julian years and zettameters.she was
frost and fog
forgive forget fail fast forsake fate
most mornings when she wakes, there is some place she'd rather be.
.
.
.
fight


untitled 3Deirdre was dusty and neglected like an old book that was once a favorite. She was an old fairy tale, a familiar bed time story that was outgrown. In the mornings she would wake and feel the chains tugging at her insides, as she wondered what it was like to waste away. The simple absence of that thing she craved more than breath was enough that she'd taken to going to the dark shores with a bottle of white wine and a heavy cigarette. For long she had believed that the waves would always listen and each grain of sand swore that it loved her. The truth behind this was in question.untitled 3
Some days she felt as vibrant as ever, but like an


the shore againWithout lunar light, watery expanse and celestial field kiss so deeply molecular density is an afterthought for morning. Wind swept. That was supposed to be sexy, right? Atlantic winds are assaulting unbound hair, but the preoccupation is with exposure as a repeating reality. Toes twist absently at a lack of socks, but the presence of sand within untied boots. Even without that tempting backwards glance to the sand dunes, she is certain no one exists for miles. But anonymous fear has a winning streak that it refuses to relinquish.the shore again
Compulsion is a bitch,


my heart belongs in club sealraven has hungarian trance coursing through her veins and in every fluid motion. but each thought is jarring to every motion. and so the wires uncross and the pulsing slows and the mind is frozen half way through an unfinished idea of incinerated innocence. now each extension of her arms and fingers is unhindered by reconsiderations and apprehensions because the music is all that matters. one sliver of clouded daylight climbs through a slit in the screen into a room otherwise charred black. the crack of glow sticks and nothing but two hands illuminated in toxic green flow and barefeet on a wooden dance floor. every movement a rhythmic resultmy heart belongs in club seal


Runaway ReactionRunaway Breaking down All alarms sounded Cooling system down Containment system cracked Backup systems offline A voice comes on the speaker Calm and cool and soothing "Fifeteen minutes... to reach safe minimum distance..."Runaway Reaction
Runaway Voices searching for control Its unstable The system's lost We're just melting down Reactors can't run like this But still it tears on Who took away control rods? Can't run fast enough to escape myself
Devious Comments
I'm doin what I can with the $100 Camera I have. Though I feel like it's coming out pretty well.
I have some more shots I'm thinking of putting up.
We'll see.
Wow! You really are a brilliant poet, aren't you?
Why don't you join the poetry contest from [link] ?
It's free and every nitwit such as myself who enters gets a small gift
but someone like you might win one of their $10 000 or $100 000 prizes.
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"All I can be is me. No more."
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Without failure, there can be no victory
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Peace To Your Geese
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sometimes our best intentions for the future do nothing but grind our present to a halt
"My skin is not my own" - Leto Atriedes
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sometimes our best intentions for the future do nothing but grind our present to a halt
"My skin is not my own" - Leto Atriedes
welcome to DA!!
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