Just gettin' by, one word at a time
Current Residence: Ice Country
Favourite genre of music: Country
Favourite cartoon character: Little My
Personal Quote: Be on your own
Sunday's CatSunday's cat is quiet, staring at the cemeterySunday's Cat by TotaArn
watching summer dying.
Soft paws break the autumn leaves,
her tail breaks the cold sunlight
and it's October.
MarionetteTug at the stringsMarionette by TotaArn
of her heart
One by one let them dance
in her chest
To the rhythm of strangers
who won't let her rest
Tug at the strings
of her heart
BlurBlurry is how I see you nowBlur by TotaArn
behind a veil of fading memories
and rainy weather.
How easily promises are abandoned,
sweet whispers no longer words,
but reminders of lost want.
An expired guarantee
Blurry is how I see you now,
as I trace our footsteps down that one street,
lean on those doors,
stand still for a minute
instead, instead, insteadi can't remember the last time i saw you.instead, instead, instead by moondrums
instead, i trace your name
along my arm:
goosebumps like braille, raw
the soft side of my wrist
you've never touched.
i know me better than i know you
and i don't know me at all.
i can't remember the last time i spoke to you.
instead, i erased your number
from my phone:
i'll miss your static, my poor
pretending to have nothing to say.
you never guessed that i was penning novels
beneath my tongue.
what i do remember is
the last time i was whole:
my hand and yours
now i'm left with splintered palms and
ghosts between my fingers.
comatose.i never told you:comatose. by moondrums
i hated the way you smelled
like winter, like
fog or listerine or
something long forgotten.
i guess i miss you the way
i miss brooklyn,
all thirsty for a song
i've never heard, pining for
a place i've never been.
i never told you:
i keep your old promises all tucked up inside,
like bruises sleeping fallow
along my hipbones.
i promise i'll love you always, i promise
i'll fix the coffee machine tomorrow,
and if you let me,
i'll fix you
well, you never were a fixer.
what you are is tired, and you never understood
why this fucked-up little town
unmade its bed, swallowed an ambien,
swallowed you. listen:
we were always comatose, clutching
hands gone cold
november, againsometimes, i wondernovember, again by moondrums
what life would be like
if i had never taught
my little sister how to
tie her shoes, or
if my eyes weren't brown.
maybe i would be
this is when i'm a house of cards -
52 bones, shivering.
one blow and i'm on the ground:
realizing too late that the tulips
i planted last september
won't ever grow,
or realizing too soon that i have never
been in love.