Dayla beauty in tiredness.
A soulless amount of treasure in all is all my mind keeps sacred.
Walks and talks, falls in day and day, I keep.
Her dress peaking her skin.
Red and dry, rough on my lips and Jesus can I finally be.
Dayla beauty in restlessness.
The amount that holds the Earth in place.
I will carry you in a pin, with decisive heartache and shelter.
Red teeth, red cheeks, as we groove to the moves our grandparents fell for.
Dayla beauty in your mouth and eyes and teeth and breast.
In somber days in bed with ladies.
In timeless acts of courage I can slave the remarkable seconds of surrender.
Taring each other, losing all hope in south and in east.
For no other direction could be recognized
just up and your body.
Dayla beauty in nothing.
As I wish upon the lines I speak.
I can be the contentment for another 3.
The trinity of fables between you and I,
I shall keep.
These color scans came out all crazy.
I got to see a prerelease showing of a documentary on Vivian Mairer tonight. Some of the most inspiring things I’ve seen in a long time.
I hear the broken bells across the world pleasuring the crack. It seems like an over filled glance that soaked up my inners and turned to just break my neck.
Then I hang and can only peak upon the washed up loves, brothers of my now past. They are incoherent, I have been homeless since an eruption of the off beat drum. I soar through interstates and illusion of friendship.
I am interested in a darling with curly hair and big eyes. She evaporated and I am in realization. Self absorbed with dances and masterminding the broken bell that pierced the drum, Scattering the harlet I could find passion from.
I am hanging along life with a snapped idea cure and be cured. Only to be Tortured by all the outcomes. Tortured by the backhanded Lee. And tortured by the inflicted processing rewinds of heels, to mountains, to south, or west.
Tainted treasures and false relations. My isolated character or a fever of touch can not give allowance to the end of entirety. There may not be an end or compassion. Just redundant poems with a bottle to run me down.
Throwin it back to just this past Saturday. Shit still has me reeling. My roommates and I packed out the living room and the homies in Cave Life and Fiancé killed it. I even got to rip through a Maiden Names set and wreck shit with Wrinkles to send Drew back to San Francisco. Not even Edward Scissorhands could bring me down.