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underwesterneyes
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Name: Shark
Gender: Male
Interests: paint, smoke, mirrors, glass, mugs, nudity, scars, pigmentation, sunlight, shadows, cigarettes, mdma, long walks, drooping trees, old notebooks, historic letters, dusty books, leather seats, soft wrists, torture, taboo circumstances, wine & beer, stories, erotica, omens, exorcisms, shyness, hands, lips, tempting words, touching, skin, shaking fingers, passion, inspiration .
Message: message me
Member Since:
7/28/2008
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| the moon came, misted
showered by a curtain of whispering clouds
glossing the skies with such a frightening subject.
it came down, tilted, until the edges touched the earth
and on this land the natives drew their blood in symbols.
from these pools grew trees, thick and red,
the tribal skin of their ancestors reflecting in nature
and their branches fell downward--
restless with the eyes of luna upon their naked flesh.
she loved them all the same.
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| as i tell you i am not drunk, my speech slurred because i am a liar
you lift my hand and hold it still, sloppy lips gave way to a sloppy eye
that stayed separate from the bottle and the papers-- my ink spilled loosely.
you quote how it pools, ocean waves caught in sand dunes; always a poet.
should i leave myself here with you? can i trust you enough to do that?
and then i remember it's me; what a joke.
the smell of egyptian musk keeps me awake, the taste of the wine lulls me.
when warmth washes over i am dizzy in a blue field.
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| beyond the beyond.
beyond the beyond.
beyond the beyond.
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tune into my head, hear me; it is a song that i cannot play.
it is the way the wind blows, turning pieces of me over and over
but never to a new leaf, just the same scar tissue like a blanketed sky.
they told me i had time to grow, into myself and who i should be,
but when's the last time that someone heard you, the way you wanted to be;
did those words lose their grip, and slip from your mouth to be replaced with
my high ramble.
lonely in a crowded room, lonely when you laugh, lonely when you
don't want a soul in your back pocket.
oh the fucking guilt.
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| and it settles, like the sun at the end of the day. cradled in the convex arch of the world's hand
half a burning flame, still apparent-- you can outline it with the tip of your finger, like an artist.
the yellow to gold, such a slight difference in hue, but it makes so much difference against skin.
skin you cannot touch or hold, skin you'll never kiss.
necessity was a made up word to justify our selfish nature, but i know the truth,
and i know what makes us turn, turn, turn (to everything there is a season).
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