21:11 27th May 2012

Notes: 10

Tags: poetry poem spilled ink creative writing original content short poem

Broken Road

Tarmac burns on this
broken road.
Stones and glass slice,
my mood will shift -
on the roll of a dice.
I was a little girl with
daisy-daydreams…
He loves me, He loves me not.
Now lies become the truth,
and a single smile -
can mean a lot.

20:55

Notes: 16

Tags: poetry poem spilled ink creative writing original content

A New Disaster

My pen feels like a stranger,
and you, a clear and present danger.
We run on fumes,
on resentment we fear to lose.
Because then we would have to be friends,
and act of social cues.
Just like everyone else.
It is rich, this resentment,
that will ooze.
Greasy and sickly to the touch.
Everyday, in your presence
is a new disaster.
A car crash on loop,
always moving faster.
I’m tired of this -
my accelerated anger.
Yet I never put my foot on the brake.
Because when this is all over,
what will remain when I wake?

14:41 24th May 2012

Notes: 15

Tags: poetry poem spilled ink short poem two line creative writing

The moon pours through the ceiling tonight,
liquid love and flowing light. 　

21:49 23rd May 2012

Notes: 37

Reblogged from mobbleberry

Tags: prose spilled ink creative writing original content short story

Stephanie

mobbleberry:

In the winter, he became a wolf. One without fangs, or a coat of fur - just a living hunger, a look of the feral about him. He had been deprived of red meat for too long and stalked the streets on the glass trodden edges of his paws; kicking beer bottles every chance he got - just to watch them explode. You could see his rib cage, poking out. He is the deadliest creature in this concrete jungle, for his madness knows no bounds. He. Will. Not. Listen. To. Reason. Even though every Little girl in a Red Hood thinks she will be able to change him…to make him better. That spittle of starvation collecting in the corners of his mouth, is self-inflicted. There is nothing he likes more than the hunt, and its no fun if the hunter isn’t gagging for it.

And when he speaks…it is a howl. An aria of fear made audible. The wavelength will surge through each knuckled bone in your back and make a cracking noise in your head.

He loves alone, and not at all.

He has a chip on his shoulder, where a tattoo whispers: ‘Stephanie’ once inked into his pores. That skin is ripped now, with his taloned paws…and lies on the pavement… leaking his blood, and wafting a scent to all us females: ‘Come save this Lost Cub, this Huntsman in Disguise.’

He is a starving wolf, and those delicate fingers tangled in his hair, are sausages.

21:37

Notes: 38

Tags: poetry poem spilled ink creative writing original content

Solar

I exist, within the fault lines of his thoughts.
I hop, from one shadow to the next,
playing hop-scotch with his heart.
On sunny days like these,
he takes an ice-pick to my hard edges,
and grips, grasps and grapples for dear life.
A solar eclipse collapses into view,
and whether it is cold, dark, or whether we
are dancing on the surface of the sun,
turning our feet to soot -
nothing seems to be important.
Not in the face of such desperation.

19:57 21st May 2012

Notes: 47

Reblogged from artisticfreefall

Tags: spilled ink

Unbroken line

artisticfreefall:

Tangled tattoos seem to be your notion
of a bold frosting

       —-to be fingered,
       —-and traced,
       —-and placed on your cake,

your body traced,
back to the root of your desire,
ignited by the wanton

       —-fire

of your broken heart,
as it beats across an unbroken line.

19:54

Notes: 21

Tags: poetry poem spilled ink creative writing original content love

Birdsong

He smelt of summer,
the pollen in the air,
got under his nails.
I followed him,
buzzing around his
atmosphere
like a bee to a flower.
Attraction, made my nostrils
widening at the smell of
his cut grass smile.
I sunbathed in his embrace,
like a lazy child
waking up to birdsong.

18:11 20th May 2012

Notes: 23

Tags: poetry poem spilled ink creative writing

Pair.

Morning air,
tempers his granite glare.
We look at each other,
we share a lingering stare.
Contempt/tpmetnoC.
A mirror image,
of a withered love.
Like butterflies pinned,
on being a spare.
A collectors edition and no more.
It is in the morning air,
when a pair,
no longer care…
Two wings no longer thump
in tandem.

20:51 14th May 2012

Notes: 17

Tags: poetry poem spilled ink creative writing

Make-it-up-baby.

Mascara falls in great clumps,
and lands at his feet in puddles.
A sleeve turns orange,
as her fake ‘for the world’ skin
leaves tribal stripes down her cheeks.
He only cared for a mask,
not the girl beneath it.
Her biggest statement,
was the sight of her back.
The sound of stiletto on her way out.

21:14 10th May 2012

Notes: 18

Tags: spilled ink

He took a safety pin to my heart.
Folded the seams, and pinned them
like one of those hedgehog cushions.
Thread and needles scattered everywhere.
I no longer bleed,
but the scars of his precise needlework
leave a line of zig-zag disappointments.　

17:08

Notes: 18

Reblogged from irrelevanceisbliss

Tags: Poetry spilled ink personal thoughts love original

Borrowed time

irrelevanceisbliss:

Beautiful.

Let’s steal our borrowed time;
Take swiftly the lives they’ve lent
In torture, allowed us to lead
With sweeter dreams, to rip love letters sent
Through brazen hearts set aflame
To keep from starving staleness
Among love lost young, lost
Early, before true knowledge of sweet caress.

17:01

Notes: 18

Tags: poetry poem spilled ink creative writing original content free verse

Car Crash

Love doesn’t shatter.
Two people going separate ways
is a collision.
The time between them,
is the crumple zone.
The head lights crack with
loneliness,
and the bumper that protects their
hearts?
Splits in two.
Oil leaks in black tears,
and glass litters the pavement
like words unsaid.
Smoke billows,
on that final goodbye.
And sirens call out,
when he turns his back on you.

16:50

Notes: 21

Tags: poem poetry spilled ink creative writing

Today

New love, cuts deep.
My cynicism makes
his smiles cheap.
Its easy to believe
the worst,
when your mind
recoils from the first.
I’m afraid of change,
to take a leap of trust,
to move on,
forget
and adjust.