I am standing on the balcony, leaning against the guardrail. I am looking afar. A sail is fleeing to the horizon. A glass of Bordeaux in my left hand, A brush in the other, I let my passion express itself.
Around me I see shapes I am surrounded Disorientated There are too many forms I can’t escape I am a prisoner of this world Of fakes and breaks, And tears/i:/ and tears/e/ They come and grab me, Try to catch a glimpse, Cling to a piece of me.
Creativity is a voice that you call to. It is right there, ‘t sings inside of you. You just have to learn how to reach out to it, hold, and pull it through.
The light descending From the skies lets its magic Residues shimmer, And land an instant, Before it collects them back, And fades out of sight.
Sometimes, when all hope seems lost, and you are left there Staring at this man-made, senseless, chaotic mess. All you need to do is shift focus, walk further,
I’m giving you space, But you are taking so much, It feels like escape.
Bodies asking and answering each other’s moves. Heat rising, skins gently brushing, pressing. Weightless figure floating, adjusting.
Clumsily climbing my way through the rocks, I stumble upon a patch of soft green moss that tickles my toes. Reaching the far end of the pier, I stop and take a deep breath. I wish I had more time to linger here, sit and absorb the sounds of the lake, its scent
Trapped, hands tied, mouth taped, Slowly I grasp consciousness I open my eyes, Discover a den – Earthen ground, soiled sheets undone On a dirty bed.
Charlie was all dressed up, three days beard well groomed and all, dark brown hair messier than ever, giving him a fresh out of bed look. The finishing touch, a splash of perfume on his torso – just one – he never fancied people to smell him a mile away.
She sighed at the sight of him. He tried to grab her hand. She dodged his attempt and pulled away. He had betrayed her. She never asked him to be perfect. Not even kind. All she wanted from him was honesty. Knowing he would never lie to her face.