Posts Tagged ‘will knox’
sick as a dog
Thursday, November 12th, 2009animal house
Thursday, October 15th, 2009blowing bubbles
Saturday, October 10th, 2009speak easy
Wednesday, September 23rd, 2009the dog house
Wednesday, September 9th, 2009sit and spin
Monday, September 7th, 2009skinny dipping
Sunday, September 6th, 2009life’s a bitch
Wednesday, September 2nd, 2009diamond in the sky
Monday, August 31st, 2009special guests
Thursday, August 6th, 2009sweet + sour
Monday, August 3rd, 2009row your boat
Sunday, August 2nd, 2009happy hour
Tuesday, June 30th, 2009i don’t know. i don’t care. i’ll get there after i leave here. i can’t ever admit to having any place to be but when i woke up from being the lonely victim i landed on my knees hoping i would be high enough only to fall free landing flat on my face once again where i lost my head underneath like the ostrich who buried her body six feet beneath concrete. dandy lion weeds can die when they’re still seeds and there’s no telling how long its gonna take to dig through all those roots in order to find the full moon on the flip side of the rabbit hole. one day maybe soon i will comprehend the meaning of ideology and tell the difference between leaving and security but until then i might as well just sink into loose leaf sheets and not pay attention to anything but what i pretend to see through the looking glass that separates me from drowning underneath grains of raining sand.
arm candy
Sunday, May 3rd, 2009sugar moon mountain
Wednesday, March 11th, 2009if there’s a will
Monday, March 9th, 2009there’s a way to kiss and make-up for the lies and twists hidden between significant friendships. only time can heal these wounds and even if the scar tissue was cut open after the stitches were removed months ago you could still end up bleeding blue blood. i rolled up a photograph and slipped it into an empty wine jug carefully packed at the bottom of an old treasure chest buried in a hope cove. the fragile stickers have been worn off for years and the last drop stained the edge of my imagination when i fit the cork back on top. there’s a hand drawn map folded in my pocket and i never leave home without the broken compass concealed in a hand me down locket. a fortune teller once told me i hold the soul of a young love who was taken away before she was supposed to go. i wonder if that’s the reason why i always find i myself in the wrong place at the right time or if patients is playing tricks on me while i sit and wait for the one and only who can show me directions back to where i will dig up my time capsule. eventually i’ll be able to replace the pair of white lace gloves i borrowed to brush off all the dust and uncover what i had to forget to loose on purpose.
























































