In some ways it feels like this year flew by, but in others it seems like it's been 2013 for ages.
How have you guys been? Any new years resolutions?
Winter child.Your eyes leave meWinter child. by HuntingForHappiness
snowblind, and frostbite sets
further in each time
your skin meets mine;
but I'm a winter
child, and damn
if my pride won't
keep my manner mild,
my feet firmly planted,
and your wishes
neon darkNight falls fast on this cityneon dark by HuntingForHappiness
and security sets with the sun,
leaving stark silhouettes walking
through street-smells, wishing
they could remember
June 18.Fear makes the thrillJune 18. by HuntingForHappiness
run hotter, but falling
into boiling water was
never the intention.
So shed apprehension;
step on that tightrope,
and shut those pretty eyes
(you always do).
Just hope that when
you stumble, someone still
wants to catch you.
RosesYou love too much, I am told by a man with a briar heart, thorny sinews and collapsed ventricles bearing down on him, hardly beating in his tight chest. He looks at me with flat, slate eyes, chipping and eroding. His hands are dark with cigarette burns and rough with calluses; I feel them on my shoulders as he looks down at me, face collapsing in at his eyes like a dead man's.Roses by AlloenDreams
For the first time, I realize he is dead. His briar heart dried up when winter killed his rose; my father, he is all thorns.
He squeezes my shoulders, too tight. You look like your mother, you know, he whispers, eyes shifting to the garden, to the yellow rose I planted for her. It is a rambler, sending shoots to the sky that sink back down. We never gave it a trellis. I loved her too much. And there are tears in his eyes, wet, heavy things that slip down his cheeks and on to the grass below us.
I don't know what to say, so I think of the rose, of her. I think that I'd like to send this
Aching LoveYou exist onlyAching Love by cardinal-hearts
within my throbbing skull;
that is all the love I need.
Submerged in Swan Lake
Swans and wings are floating by
on a breeze imbued with jasmine and
willows outstretching their arms in welcome.
Through deep breaths he arrives
plunged in murky, pungent water.
A quiet whisper, and he prays -
"Please... may I linger here?"
Willows lower their arms
and jasmine falls to the Earth
where the wind dies and finally rests.
The crows are cawing hymns,
begging to be swans.
But only the duck submerged in Swan Lake
has delved the desired shore.
Its waters dangerous and plagued
by monsters baring their teeth;
most ghastly and putrid they are
that no crow may ripple its surface
nor any songbird seeking beauty fair.
The Swan Maidens bare their chests
and open their wings in veneration -
for the duck has sought beauty through courage
and earned his guise of grace and virtue.