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Morbid kids tell morbid talesshe told us she'd found a body in the old rotting-brick building and while you made question marks with your eyes, I traced their curve with my mouth. she turned to go; she was just a kid anyway and who knew if there had ever been a body in the first place but we decided to err on the side of caution. I mean, given the unlikely equation of father plus daughter plus broken-windowed school divded by girl with either a lying tongue or a terribly truthful one, were you really expecting something real? and as soon as she left, I swung my swiveled hip over the bike seat and pedaled fMorbid kids tell morbid tales
by ~midnightshining
Ode to youI Attention fellow human: it's time to box up your old skin. Put your fingertips and freckles into storage alongside last year's fads and photographs filled with unfamiliar faces. And hold still while the new flesh folds over your angles to avoid ripping it, paper-thin, tearing over your shoulderblades the place where your wings would be (if you had wings)Ode to you
and leaving long twisting scars inside and out.
II This is your first last kiss. This - tasting bittersweet on your tongue in the front seat of someone else's car and buzzing through your blurry eyes
by ~midnightshining
Random Favourites
My Father's Tool ShedMy Father's Tool ShedMy Father's Tool Shed
On Sundays he would creep into his tool shed opening the window just enough to
grab the attention of the snow, which fell endlessly that year.
We watched.
Like a chiseler carefully walking through November rain he
would fist
the nails that
lay on the ground and tack them beneath
his palms, only bleeding
on interruption.
That tool shed, so full of holes that when we walked through barefoot to grab
a can of Tab, splinters would crawl up inside, and above our ankles. We woul
by ~xtape
I remember you from trainsThe next train to depart from Platform One will be the four-thirty-two, Flinders Street, stopping all stations to Flinders Street except East Richmond.I remember you from trains
...And right on time again, she shows up. Yellow t-shirt and denim skirt. Today, she’s wearing glasses that I haven’t seen her with before and they make her look like a librarian, especially combined with the long, deep, deep, brown hair. I don’t need to look her up and down like I have in the past. I have her memorised. After seeing her every Sunday at the same time for six weeks, I could almost convince myself that I know her. After all, I have seen a multitude of her moods. I know ho
by ~timbaxter
Bassby ~BoredWithModesty
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: five thousand miles from birdland
- Interests: Photography, writing, spending obscene amounts of time on the phone
- Favourite movie: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind; Everything is Illuminated
- Favourite band or musician: The Decemberists, the Postal Service, Stars, Beck
- Favourite genre of music: Glamorous indie rock and roll.
- Favourite artist: Rodchenko
- Favourite poet or writer: e.e. cummings, Jeffrey Eugenides, Jonathan Safran Foer, Kurt Vonnegut
- Favourite photographer: Rodchenko
- Operating System: Windows XP, unfortunately
- Skin of choice: Warm
- Tools of the Trade: Pen, paper, muse, Mountain Dew
- Email: midnightshining@gmail.com
- AIM: salamirebel
- MSN: baconyfresh@hotmail.com
- Yahoo: midnight_shining
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