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The RoomThe room was small, built in the shape of a sphere. The walls, floor and ceiling were all painted a bright, blinding white, creating a cold and unfeeling setting. There was no visible discrepancy to the sphere’s shape. There was nothing else in the room, and it was kept lit by an unidentifiable source of light. There were no windows, and the only door that led outside blended in seamlessly with the walls. There was no way to tell left from right, front from back. And in the middle of the sphere sat a man.The Room
His raven black hair was long, dirty and fell to his shoulders in matted locks. He wore a plain white shirt, or at least a shi
by ~BlueDragonus
an isosceles love triangleIf two angles of one triangle are similar to two angles of another triangle, then the triangles are similar.an isosceles love triangle
Recalling the memory of His geometry makes me sick with longing. That’s the real reason I don’t call Him every night, don’t spend hours stuttering out words onto paper in some tremulous imitation of a love letter. The space I have behind conversation and human interaction is where He really lives, ready for me any time I need to remember. I don’t even have to close my eyes before His own stare back at mine, revealing the storm clouds and stars that hover around His midnight-black pupils. The angles of His eyebrows, the slo
by *FriedPickles
wishes on paper stars.i cut out paper stars and color them black. on starless nights, i drop them from my rooftop and watch them fall, slowly, and fade into the grass below.wishes on paper stars.
and as they fall, i wish on them. it's the same wish, over and over and over.
.
'what do you want most?' you ask me, your warm brown eyes staring into my dark ones.
but i have to look away. i'll never be able to tell you that the only thing i want anymore is for you to be happy.
.
'i'm sorry,' i tell you over the phone, my eyes staring at an empty wall in my room.
'for what?' you ask, confused. &nb
by ~Amertie
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Devious Info
- Interests: Reading, writing, drawing, cooking, horseback riding, daredevil-ing, friends
- Favourite movie: Babel, Notes on a Scandel, All Miyazaki films, Grave of (the?) Fireflies, and on and on
- Favourite band or musician: Many
- Favourite genre of music: Pretty much anything
- Favourite artist: oosh, many again.
- Favourite poet or writer: Don't get me started. Anne Tyler, Philip Roth, Amy Tan, Charles Bukowski, Joe Weil
- Tools of the Trade: Imagination
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find me a storm where the wild winds blow.
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Lt. Maria Laguerta: So then he must have already had the head with him in the front seat. Huh, that's weird. Why would he keep it there?
Dexter Morgan: I don't know. So he could use a carpool lane.
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visit my poetry account:
~cheramyn
They called me hyacinth girl.
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Anon needs to get over itself.
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"Art is art, it is perception, vision and passion; it is the unfettered expression of our souls. And it is all beautiful, each in its own way. We should never forget that." ~ Me
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