it's like you've been passing with flying colours
and now the colours are flying over your head,
(black, green, and blue, and red)
like shrieking streaks of godknowswhat
and your subconscious is talking in twisted tongues
finding rhymes for words you haven't written yet, except in your head
and a few hundred false starts, creased and dark, in the waste.
taste, your mind screams, use taste, you can rhyme with waste, and it scans
but your fingers refuse to move, because if you move, you'll write sonnets
and you're not ready to praise anybody yet.
the halfrhyme of waste and praise has got you riled, and rhyme and rile a
i want to marry a man who smells like october,
like rotting leaves and cooling air, and
an absence of fish. i know, deep down,
that i will always be a february, cold
but warming, optimistic (slightly).
only a few weeks away from being a january
and all the bitterness that twists with the wind.
i've sellotaped secrets under my desk, it makes me feel good when i run my fingers under them while i'm working. it reminds me there's more to me than exam results and that i can do these and still have the underside of my desk.
also it's quite nice to see that i haven't filled the whole space yet, there's still secrets to be found and told, and ones to be taken down in time.
i was thinking about eventually when i sell this desk, and whether i'll take them down.
done something you're proud of recently? show me, i'd love to see. (: i tried working through the 1200 deviations in my inbox but i actually, seriously couldn't.
or, done something you're not proud of recently? show me (: i'm feeling very constructive.
if only this constructivity could be transferred to actual real life work.
oh well. can't have everything.
also; i am currently housed at "http://inkandskin.livejournal.com". :)