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Lucky.An intoxicating series of lights blunder curiously through the suffocating darkness, wrapped around each glinting bulb, stabbing a shadow of violent colour in to the emphatic void of nothingness. Headache grows numb between my temples, every now and then a flicker of pain will raise my eyelids, and I'll still be sitting there in my car, hands planted on the steering wheel, despite the whole thing being stationary. Outside snowflakes land on my windscreen, crystallized droplets of water building up a ceaseless layer of snow against the glass. My finger sits on the ignition, but I know it's no use turning on the wipers. I'm barely breathing, the cold is intense, seizing every drop of water in my fucking body. I'm sinking slowly into my seat, I'm glad, I don't give a damn. A moment goes by where I think about turning on the heater, I can't find the energy to move my finger from the ignition key. To say I wasn't a very happy person, well, that would just be the blunt truth; what
Heroin Rats Time projected starkly from the bleary face of a wristwatch, clamped around a sweaty cusp of bone, read in narrow red digits repeated forlornly from the scathed plastic face. A hum of early fall reverberates the senseless sage of open earth, slipping slowly through the fingers of wary slumber as the still landscape reaches its darkest point. The dusky carpet of night lays crumpled over the horizon, shrouding the scars of landmarks and straggly vegetation in its unkempt darkness. A slither of moonlight illuminates a curled ribbon of country road, naked and raw and freshly dug, leading up to a scatter of lights on a distant peek. The softly lit yellow windows holding the sombre promise of a warm flask of diluted whiskey and a dry bed. Their car is parked on the shallow curb of the road, the rims decayed and bitten with flecks of amber rust, its internal pipes twisted out of recognition from years of neglect, hovering anxiously above the ground. Two pale bodies lay
Scar PoetryHummed lyrics
running fingers across lithe vocal chords
echoing in the isolated chamber and tune
a wall of glass divides us
Turn of phrase
type writers sing from their iron strings
the shrill sound pronounced clearly to conform
and the paper speaks for itself
Our DutyWe swallowed the path home
Because we were hungry,
Though starving is an ongoing
Story, an empty bag
Dancing in the streets,
Full of an unfastened voice
Walking through the house,
Wind unchained, heart admonished.
Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,
That sleeping boat content to follow
The vacant waves, intervals
Of dying that we dare not interrupt,
And we watch the kind ear shrinking
From our charcoal docks; heaven
With a full stomach crawls away.
This is what we were put here for.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More