“I got me the prettiest little fucked up bitch in America, and it’s all my fault. Guess that means I gotta fix you, huh?” He takes a la…
Whatever works, I guess… / / / This is an experimental piece. I wrote it as part stream-of consciousness and part internal journal, sort of. Let me know what you think of it. It took me a bit longer than usual because I’m not used to writing like this. / / / Also, if you don’t understand something about this story, just let me know. I’ll try to patch them over. It can be confusing. / / / / thanks again so much for readin all my writing! makes me feel loved :)
*_burning sight / melting future / the charred remains of a burnt-out dreams / like we had the sun in our eyes? / Back to the Future / a devas…
Add Ushna Sardar to your watchlist FEATURED BY BACK IN BLACK / FEATURED BY LIVE,LOVE,DREAM 18/03/09 FEATURED BY Masterpieces: Literary Workshop
Redbubble community had contacted me earlier in the week, asking for my help. They needed me to interview the leader of A.R.S.E, notorio…
Official A.R.S.E winner March challenge 2008 I may have bitten off more than I can chew with this one….. / But when have I let a good idea get in the way of quality ;) Plus my T-designs suck, so I had to write something instead. You will find the last installment of the real Danny Gonzo stories here Though I highly recommend you go here first
I don’t want to shrink inside. I don’t want short hair or thinning hair or cracks in my heart.
This sucks like toast on crackers. But I’m in a bit of a writing rut and decided to write nonsense until I write myself out of it. Seeing it posted is always like looking at it with fresh eyeballs. I hope to rework it into something digestible. Or am I saying that because I’m hungry? Don’t feel particularly hungry after mentioning “fresh eyeballs”. Blech. Gotta get hungry for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. Cooking for that big American Starch Festival should cannonball me right into a place of writing genius. Not. If this meandering description of nothingness is any indication, its gonna take a lot of random drivel. Okay, I’m going to shut up now.
every / single / time / I wake in a sweat / with the ghost of you inside me
Sometimes the missing and the want of a thing you barely tasted is a thousand times worse then never touching it to your lips at all.
Blood Group – stubborn silky soot / Allergies – bad breath / Shoe Size – What ever fits
That small crack is now a vast empty space…
He did not eat. / He did not drink. / Each morning, he looked up to greet the sun, knowing he had survived another day.
The Australian outback is a harsh and sometimes a dangerous place to live. / There is not always enough food for everyone. / Some have to go and leave loved ones behind in order to survive. / Emund must be willing to put his on the line for the sake of his family.
random thoughts
Who belonged to this house? / To whom did it belong? / Who lived here? Who did? / Where have they gone?
*_I didn’t write this ,, but it’s one of my favs that I wish to share with you ,, one that I read for myself ,, for at times I feel like …
Drinking in images which roll out my eyes / Wishing they wouldn’t stain my face
Old commentary, from when I was still on Deviant Art, follows: “Actually, this poem was completely spur of the moment and was inspired by me trying to think of something to put in the little “listening to ” and such categories when posting a journal entry. Well, and obviously inspired, in part, by my being gonzo over clown boy! grrr “ Yes, in some respects, I still have it bad for clown boy, the tattooed wonder that he is, but I think I have gone and developed a crush on someone different, in his absence. I am a loyalist, but don’t deal well with tedium grin
memory errodes..
When past drags you down due to the residue…
“crack da street”Ricardo Perez Jr / 6 -18-09 / Shake, then shake it up I will / Still holding my head high / Heart running on empty / I holl…
Outside a gale blows, / Rattling the wooden windows. / The curtains hanging limp, / Watching, waiting. A crack appears, / A crack in the l…
A poem I wrote one late night … I’m not sure if I like it now, what do you think?
The waitress looked at me and said she was sorry and brought me a free dessert. At least it was chocolate.
A single woman has the worst week ever, or perhaps, the worst week in history. Warning: Contains profanity and sex scene.
Gesticulating wildly from my safe glass cocoon / Windmill arms, face contorted like a goon / The anger is inexorable; “Move, MOVE!”
The ramblings of a cynical mind
and now i no longer leave a trail of life where i plea
about a boy i knew / rest in peace
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