She said.
Son profil
Strawberry-Mia0uss
16 ans
France
"I have such passion."
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# Posté le jeudi 23 juillet 2009 08:28
Modifié le dimanche 16 août 2009 14:20
Summer procrastination.
There is something quite idyllic about having tea in bed with someone on a sunday morning. Rain slithers down the window but you don't care, you're hidden from the world by the white linnen curtains, and all you see is blurry eyes, mussed up hair and an ironic "Yes! There really is a Kalamazoo!" mug, balanced precariously on the feathery duvet. Yeasty mouth, tired skin and soft light bathing you as you fumble muzzily for the switch.
You wish it was winter, so that you could do this all day, your only movement being your migration to the cloth couch by the roaring fire, indian rugs prickly on your tender toes. A heavy hardcover book resting on your chest as you listen to the sharp snowfall outside. The smell of pine needles, baked bread, warm milk.
Nevertheless, today you must get up, before your neighbour's lawnmower violently rouses you from your dawn stupor, so you fling open the window to the smell of freshly cut grass, dewy grapevines splashing you with leftover skydrops and a grey hazy heat. Inexplicably summer.
And yet this morning you feel an august chill, implying fall's newly sharpened pencils, squeaky tennis shoes, slippery cobblestones and autumn leaves.
So you slip into yesterday's shorts and pad quietly across the floorboards, ready to take on the summer buzz and flowery tumble of another bleary day, until you can wake up tomorrow morning, woolly-headed once more, and finally face your terrifying reverie of resonant hallways and that cold, rainy september rush.
Yes, that will be faced tomorrow. Until then, there is endless delicious time to be wasted. It's not procrastination if it's this imaginary.
You wish it was winter, so that you could do this all day, your only movement being your migration to the cloth couch by the roaring fire, indian rugs prickly on your tender toes. A heavy hardcover book resting on your chest as you listen to the sharp snowfall outside. The smell of pine needles, baked bread, warm milk.
Nevertheless, today you must get up, before your neighbour's lawnmower violently rouses you from your dawn stupor, so you fling open the window to the smell of freshly cut grass, dewy grapevines splashing you with leftover skydrops and a grey hazy heat. Inexplicably summer.
And yet this morning you feel an august chill, implying fall's newly sharpened pencils, squeaky tennis shoes, slippery cobblestones and autumn leaves.
So you slip into yesterday's shorts and pad quietly across the floorboards, ready to take on the summer buzz and flowery tumble of another bleary day, until you can wake up tomorrow morning, woolly-headed once more, and finally face your terrifying reverie of resonant hallways and that cold, rainy september rush.
Yes, that will be faced tomorrow. Until then, there is endless delicious time to be wasted. It's not procrastination if it's this imaginary.
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# Posté le dimanche 16 août 2009 14:23
Modifié le dimanche 16 août 2009 16:30
KITTENTITS?
Like cigarettes and soap, you wrap my dripping hair around your neck. Drowsy to the sound of your deep even breathing, I inhale to the feel of rough shy hands, forget my deserts and highways. For cornsilk hair, kittensoft & smooth stubble, cucumber skin. I'd soften the shadows under your eyes like blue velvet on barbed wire- tense and sharp, your lips the edge of a cliff, my navel the rocky shore.
All I will remember is your pounding heartbeat, pulsing through our chests. Ne dis rien. "Run your hands from my neck to my chest, I don't really want you to stop, and you know it so it doesn't stop you." Like an electric shock through my bare knees, your lips are on mine and already my hands are spreading across your angelbones, false wings for a false night; your fingers are entwined through my muddy hair. I am so gone on you I need a cloud to get back home.
All I will remember is your pounding heartbeat, pulsing through our chests. Ne dis rien. "Run your hands from my neck to my chest, I don't really want you to stop, and you know it so it doesn't stop you." Like an electric shock through my bare knees, your lips are on mine and already my hands are spreading across your angelbones, false wings for a false night; your fingers are entwined through my muddy hair. I am so gone on you I need a cloud to get back home.
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# Posté le dimanche 16 août 2009 17:27
Modifié le dimanche 11 octobre 2009 10:51
Nightclub Lust
It's amazing when the night is going badly, and you're dancing insanely and sweating and beating and pulsing alone, and suddenly you feel his hands on your hips and his breath in your ear and you think "Blimey, I'd forgotten how that feels." And you learn that, broken heart or not, your body is not numb and has not stopped feeling and working just because some gormless git rejected it. And you shiver under his warm touch as you feel sweat drip down between your shoulderblades and you are moving, constantly slipping and sliding to the broken beat, and you don't care that your makeup has run and all you know are his brown curls and his hand on the small of your back. The music pounding through your heartstrings, you're dancing warm cheek to cold stubble. Sex, only better, because you're strangers at dawn. Implicit intimacy. And you're breathless as he presses his cheek to your neck, spreads his fingers across your waist, biting, tugging, and.
And he's gone. And the night goes on. No empty promises to break. Nothing. Morning Cinderella.
And he's gone. And the night goes on. No empty promises to break. Nothing. Morning Cinderella.
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# Posté le samedi 22 août 2009 06:43
Modifié le samedi 22 août 2009 14:42
Fuck me beautiful
Happy underwear makes everything better.
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# Posté le dimanche 23 août 2009 16:28
Modifié le vendredi 11 septembre 2009 16:20
Anorexia Nevrosa.
I am full of bullshit.
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# Posté le lundi 24 août 2009 14:13
Modifié le mardi 25 août 2009 05:02
Every day a little death.
I feel you in dark rooms, in empty tents and in lonely walks. I feel you in melted heath bars, dripping showers and molten leaves. I feel you in arrogance and in truth. I feel you in music, in the smell of engine grease, in on-screen kisses. I feel you in touches, in smells, in soft grass and rough gravel. I feel you in blinking lights, in cold sweat and feathery blankets. I feel you in letters, in smells and in old photos. I feel you in the night, I feel you in the sun, the warm fog and glacial stars. I feel you in laughter and dry sobs. I feel you in my bed, between my pillows, underneath my heels. I feel you in flat tires, long hills and breathless runs. I feel your at my fingertips when I write, buried in my neck when I cry, wrapped around me when I sleep. I feel you in dry wood, frozen stone and angry winds. I feel you in bad dreams, blue cielings and creaking stairs. I feel you in long train rides, dark cars and scratchy records. I feel you in sleepless nights, dialtones and even breathing. I feel you in storms, in songs, in memories. I feel you in words, strokes, brushes and notes. Every day a little death.
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# Posté le samedi 29 août 2009 15:45
Modifié le dimanche 30 août 2009 13:10
Blasée
Alice, 16 ans, écrivain raté.
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# Posté le lundi 31 août 2009 16:14
Modifié le mercredi 30 septembre 2009 00:34
You always go for the jugular.
I am endlessly lovable, bitch-boy.
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# Posté le samedi 05 septembre 2009 15:27
Modifié le samedi 17 octobre 2009 09:07
I have a dream
I dreamt of whales and black walls, looming over me as I swam through my salty turquoise sea. And the whale was all my past lovers, bleeding, inscribed with tribal insigna, and I was there to save him with my words. So I followed him down into his underwater car. Fear of drowning till I realized I could breathe. I kiss my lover's face and realize it is nor human nor whale, it is all in my head, and my lips are moving against bare nothing, my hands clasping the watery air. So I swim out onto the shore and my friends are waiting for me, and I feel foolish and trapped but then I remember I can wake up, so I do.
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# Posté le vendredi 11 septembre 2009 16:12
Modifié le lundi 26 octobre 2009 05:02
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