~tiredallthetime

when dreaming ends

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About Me Member Wannabe Novelist tiredallthetimeFemale/Australia

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angel i n a

From the bottom of a river Comes a sneaky little shiver Comes a dirty little girlie with a smile upon her face. From the swamp her hair is matted And her soaking dress is tattered, And the wisest and the foolish know her watery embrace. And a small gray bear she clutches And do die, the things she touches, And she hates the green, the red, the yellow, hates the air they breathe. And her glassy eyes they wonder As her skin, it falls asunder And the grass she walks upon just dies, and life begins to seethe. Then her throat emits a murmur Grower louder, growing firmer,

Newest

the beginningIndandescence filled my eyes and landed on her hips and thighs were curves rolled low & high from toes to fingertips. Her belly hutted round her waist, I almost had to jump & taste, and chased sweet
shadows in trails and bounds, through flesh so sweet, of passion, chaste, she Writhed and breathed and stretched herself in pure delight against my hand, I traced her mounds and pounds with light. the beginning
by ~tiredallthetime

2005this place i sit is now a throne; the mere dirt floor has turned to bones. the rocks that jutted, now fit my curves, my vision's blinded, warm gold in swerves. i want to smash this seat of god and wash away the silver blood. for low attatched, but sure, is there is nothing but more matted hair. 2005
by ~tiredallthetime

fool to believedid you feel me sharing a part of you? Breathing in every ounce of air you were finished with… never felt so at peace.
Sunset coloured love imbuing your arms…your face…your lips. I felt it softly rub onto me attached to every kiss & touch you
gave me.
Your hair softly brushed my jaw as I writhed
underneath the clutches of heaven…feeling more than the stars you placed in my eyes. No passion lost in method…no method lost in passion. My eyes are closed…my hands are bound…but I can feel every part of you rush through my soul. Connect connect fool to believe
by ~tiredallthetime

i see in heatBreathe, Touch, Fingertips alight. Sun, Smoke, Your breath is sexy. Tug, Touch, I am blind. Sun, Smoke, I see in heat. Waves, Weed, Your breath is sexy. Closer, Cover, Breathe in me. Filtered Fire Closer, kiss me. Ring Ring Answer your phone. i see in heat
by ~tiredallthetime

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Devious Info

Interests: candy shot glasses
Favourite movie: the first scene of Apocalypse Now.
Favourite genre of music: 60's folk, grunge, old school rock, jazz, moonlight, scat
Favourite artist: andrew lloyd webber > the phantom of the opera
Favourite poet or writer: Jeff Buckley, Stephen King, Paulo Coelho
Personal Quote: I keep the heart of a small boy on my desk.
Tools of the Trade: purple

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Comments

~Aladdin-Sane Jan 9, 2005, 5:17:17 AM

Thank you very much for the watch and favourite. Wow, your only one so far too.

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-StationToStation-

~idel-crane Dec 14, 2004, 7:46:15 PM

Your feelings are material, not vain fantasies, feelings of terror, ecstacy and deliriuml; perhaps of unbearable lightness of being, of freedom and despair. I wonder what people like us can hope to be in the real world, I don't know...

I want to enjoy your work, I in fact love it, or does it feel like seeing ones own reflection in the mirror? No, it's more like Dorian Gray looking into his own picture, seeing something one have to live with, inevidtable, a demon that cannot be slayed.

But I am also terribly aware of the price one has to pay to produce this; toying with both sanity and time, body and heart. I was there, was, and don't wish to be anymore. I don't think I'm soft, just somehow still sain enough to realize the destructive prepensity of this ... life. So I don't know if I should encourage you, or to encourage you to live a better and less fucked up life.

I admire you for your courage, and despise you for the active surrender of will towards your desires, demons, addictions, utterly without discipline, and ultimately (according to Oscar Wilde) without use.

But after all we only live once, there are many desicions we'll have to make in this seemingly infinitely life. I've made mine, you've made yours, maybe you have but haven't realized it but you have. I hope the world at large will acknowledge your personal sufferings amounts to something, as oppose to nothing.

Finally I'd like to thank you, the world is a perfectly ordinary place until someone waks me up to its beauty, and its equally beautiful cruelty, and I think you've done that. I'll be watching.

~tiredallthetime Dec 15, 2004, 8:04:14 AM

somehow...I think I know what you mean. what I write is an indulgence into material feelings, to write on something I need to dwell on it..it's almost an exaggeration to convey it. my surrendering to my demons and addictions are out of exhaustion and self loathing, the crawling pit of depression which is merely selfishness disguised by angst.
I can see it in myself; but where is poetry without drama?

it's almost impossible to encourage a person and have them interpret it the way you intend. it seems strange...but I know exactly what you mean with what you say; all I can do is wade through the consuming, self righteous parts of the swamp as best I can and try to keep seeing where I'm going.

and...if that is indeed true, you're welcome..

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