Thursday, June 16, 2011

What happens when June is just a metaphor?

And now when the rain comes, we can be faithful.

June is just a metaphor with your leg around his neck,sharing his
hollows. It is a month of smooth, raw death but June is
just a poetic element that is a cave. Its a place where the
lines of the song play

when they get back, the rolling stops;
there's no one to stay with

in your head.Your Rooms collide- what happens when

we're like the nudists, the nudist of all

being June- nothing's bare.You touch it when it falls like
a dream around your hair-the dead that never saved you from
rain.Its a month of finding yourself in the puddles, but

June is just a metaphor which spells listen to me, wears a
spacesuit like it could float away to eclipse for real.Like
it could stick its head into the fridge and change
its name without getting soaked till the knee.Like the storm
that threatens to stop the music but doesn't; the calm- 

it is that month.But June is just a metaphor,on a torn
piece of soul with the only blooming hollows, lying 
facedown; on your cheek; inbetween your finger-joints 
when you can't write it down. June remains
a metaphor while love comes to you through T9 as
a typographic error.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

painting on scrap paper (hence the creases)

Grey mountain, Blue love

Alone is the only answer. When the mornings are beautiful, it isn't too hard to breathe.


Fuck no, I have not the slightest clue what my head was doing when I made this.Funny thing is, I started off trying to draw a friend's Facebook DP and it wound up this way (nothing like the dp minus the glasses mind you; and the hair maybe) . I'm not even sure if it is apparently offensive, that's how clueless I am.