

Burning promisesBurning promises, flit in the breeze. Your eyes are words,Burning promises
and your words are thunder, shake the earth. You fill the hole in my arms. With burnt paper and sesame oil. Can you see my moment?


The devils toolOh God, your crushing beauty, I am glad that you are not there to see it! No words to speak of No truth to seek of No master to teach you No preacher preach you There is, as always only the moment.The devils tool
I am in full control of it all,
glad without a rudder to steer us glad without a devil to fear us glad without a past to guide us &n


PasserbyI watched him pull on his sweatshirt over his head, his movements slow and deliberate: one arm through one orange sleeve, cuff adjusted with calloused fingertips. He tugged the brown fabric over his chest; torso covered, his two hands smoothed his waist. He stretched, arms to the ceiling, revealing his waistline, a California tan on a small-town Ohio farmboy. His eyes had not yet wavered from some space on the wall. Four fingers ran through his hair, tendons flexing like golden wheat fields in an August breeze. He moved, then, small steps taken towards tPasserby
I hope everything is well with you.
-John
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Don't look in the mirror
at the face you don't recognize
don't worry about it.
infact, in all seriousness, i probably like and respect you more now then i ever would have the other way.
so,
thanks.
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casuality is being in a holding tank in distant city and being told you're weird and then coming to your local holding tank and being told the same thing.
could you have gotten any more impersonal?
haha
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casuality is being in a holding tank in distant city and being told you're weird and then coming to your local holding tank and being told the same thing.
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love does find a way.
would you be interested in ~freelance-writers
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[link]
With great art tutorials and discussions.
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