Thoughts Like Koi Flop From

A life of commas and semicolons The pauses and hesitations of the ellipsis The catastrophic ending of paragraphs The solitude of the blank spaces And the freedom of the thought never written

Its alluring, alarming voice. Almost giving you no choice. Its breathtaking complexion. Adding you to its collection. Its taunting beauty and song. Which both bring you along. These factors, ending your fate. For they are purely used as bait. Beware of such creatures, sirens. They have hard intentions, like irons.

That is a very derpy Shakespeare... Silliam Derpspear if you will

Would you hang or would you sink?

Flutter like butterfly or moth?

Freeze over or return to ash?

first visible animal of dusk, whose antlers maim the stars, break off pieces of their longing shapes sends them scattering to earth, so full of omission no one is allowed to pass, there is no deep shelter there is only the ore-wear of hunger, time’s burrowing, the ways in which our desires beget us 

Umm, Hello!

If you somehow wound up on this one, please consider heading on to the sideblog, which is actually being updated:

@thehangedwords

I don't know, maybe I'll start doing something here in the future?

I'm going to asphyxiate xdddd

An authentic experience of me, reading the Silmarillion for the first time, trying to imagine what Melkor looks like:

Me: If the Ainur can choose how their fanar appear, then I bet he'd go for something physically intimidating... Tall, then. Most likely wierdly white-gray pale, too...

Me: Long, dark hair... Dressed in black robes, ooh! What if they pool at his feet when he stands, so it's kind of like he's emerging from a puddle of darkness... and... hmm.

Me: Why does this sound... familiar? W-who does it remind me of...?

Me: ...wait.

I am so sorry.

That would be UNPRECEDENTED! You? Writing a thing? Never happened before.

What if I wrote a thing...?👀

L. V., i found this poem when you let me walk around your mind

you solar flare, enkindle all

lounging poolside plague the apartments nearby yeah, im on your back you're, easy to second god them assume i need your — i really need your — my theoretical models more shameful than Jane Birkin theses and ripped red camelias these are no times for innocent eyes, bordellos our overeducated elbows — passers-by pre-September matchsticks arrival of late — trains you've seen it all, all it seems you've, waved goodbye, if it's fantasy made of swallowtail sensation drunk on your humid breath, — chisel your truths out: of my Mongol hordes hands that warm-up Prajnaparamita Sutra three am — is never deceased, a mouth of Korean cabbage heatwave artform, and we can superglue like last two pages, silky moist after hurricane rains