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Wednesday, May 18, 2011


She is a canyon,
beautiful in the setting sun.
Cut by wind and water, eroded
over time; worn down,
tired, lovely.
Her delicate wrists are worrying-
boulders balanced on thin
ridges, miraculous and
terrifying. Her brown eyes
carry ages with them; it is like
looking into a chasm,
into a deep unknown darkness
that nothing fills.
I wish for her to be a meadow
or a stream, mountains
or hills at least. But she
is a canyon,
enchanting and alarming;
and it is killing me.

Formed right as I was falling asleep. As in I was actually in a semi-dreaming state, and then this came into my head, and I woke myself up and wrote down what I could remember. It was obviously better in my dream, but this is the gist.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011


Sunshine, fair weather friend
and ally when tensions
are high. We both know that I
only have to step outside
and breathe, where you
are there to comfort me.

Small and necesary. I always felt that I have to keep a balance in my writing, like if I let myself write too many negative things then I'll just explode. Which is a perfectly reasonable theory, in my opinion.
I love the sun.