Art

Coffee Drinking 73

Awesome sketches by AuAu, one of them including Tom and Lauren of my collaborative novel project, Identify.

They look great, so be sure to give her a follow if you want to stay updated on upcoming work.

Coffee Drinking 71

Originally posted on AuAu Over:
Its gonna be a loooong while for me to finish the Alice story, in that one she, emh, you could say, sold her own heart. On the story I was talking about the last post,…

Coffee Drinking 70

Originally posted on AuAu Over:
The other day I was about to write a “poem” called ~Hoarder lite~, once upon a time I was a full one, now I notice Im lite, which gets in the middle of the so…

Coffee Drinking 63

Originally posted on AuAu Over:
Work, work, work… ahg, it kills my good mood and eats my time. I should be glad I even have it though, I dont know how it has lasted for so long, maybe its my…

Let it die.

Turn away from the resuscitations there

the dream warrants the saplings, she

in the lithology of life, the posies leach in mother’s touch, stands

retracted in the tears from the ocean, weeping in the enchant as

I feel the shame of the eventide; the last breath to the inhabited throes of the shore if

swallowed in the vanity of torpor, a slumber to the tower of ice in the stars alive

bloom.

Desert, her eyes are morsels

to the jasmine and roses once grown from her wrists,

between the flowers in each white finger,

whilst the moon falls, leaves barefoot in winter,

deserved for posturing an abyss

this dance, like an atramentous sea;

Eyes #2

Eyes
lissom, lost
twinned in amnesia
of darkness wrapped
around the orphaned dream interwoven alone
leave me alone

“Ophilia” By a.d.matthias.

Cecilia paused. She could never remember their names. Perhaps she is never told; perhaps she is made to forget. Briefly wondering how many have come and gone, she then decides that names are ultimately inconsequential, before lamenting sotto voce, “What’s in a name…”

Early dark.

In our face like waves, receded with flickers
That are evasive in our bones with ferity
Void of discovering dreaming, these fluencies
In evocative tremors, prospering the pigweeds
In the fallen dusk arcs upon the belts of snow,
Appearing to crawl, swaddled within a darkroom
In the depths of your mind

Unquiet Light.

Originally posted on Lucy's Works and Co:
When the hand lays on sights, dead, That collapsed dust from earlier time, That acceded some time beyond the winds, lead With the lining, cried at first breath. Doth the rooms that…

Valhalla. (Prose)

It is in the beige evening by the willows and a café restaurant with the golden leaves and their shards on the grounds, covered in a cleansed rain. It is in the illumination of shatters that broke beyond the pale sky that not only writhes among itself, but will be only among a frail sight like memory, a seed into the dead fruit of tree.

I’ll Remember.

As I touch the river that trembles upon my weak sunlit torrents upon a gentle lick of lilac,
And I shiver upon the pale wisteria of the eventide like a wounded deer,
For I wonder upon the dark lavender skies, and their cracked gentle weeping rivers
That glint upon the surface below the Acrylic golden trees, and their blossoming tormented thunders