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reforged-lionheart
ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇғɪᴇʟᴅ
grif-hawaiian-rolls
I Said SHOTGUN
wordbunch
the king has got a crown again
sansastarqk
Queen in the North
raintreesanitizers
Raintree Sanitizers
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I just want to get better. I do not care how it will happen.
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Tree
South Korea-based artist Myoung Ho Lee frames trees to create beautiful natural portraits. This series, soberly titled Tree, was exhibited at the Yossi Milo Gallery in New York.
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Blood Pudding
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“Eat the runt, eat the runt!”The horns wail like hell, and the baying of the dogs sounds like a deep laughter. Scatter the rot. Keep going and going, sweet tooth aching, looking for a hit in the hunt. Sweet tooth telling them, “eat the runt, eat the runt!”
She is crashing through ivy, wide-eyed and frantic. Gums lined cherry red velvet and chilled in the February blue. Too far, too fast. Tumble down and down, fingers scrabble and scrape upon the forest floor. The body lain out in a blanket of momentary still, morning light poking pinholes through bramble patch. The body a mess of nettles and broken seed pods. Collapsed veins and peppercorn heart.Running on empty, soft belly glimmering white chocolate. Heaving up and down, like furnace bellows. Eyes squeezed shut, with little purple-yellow sprites dancing in the shadow of her vision. Limp, dehydrated and 19. Howling empty carrols.Push up and pray. Her muscles fill with fervent air anew and she’s thunderstorms through the forest again
Then, through the fog, she sees it. A rabbit, a deer, a river.
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Deej Amago
Japan Artist
Pictures , unfortunately censored and cropped for tumblr
Visit his Instagram that is MORE tolerant if it is a drawing or a painting than the strict and ignorant policy of TUMBLR in concern of art
https://www.instagram.com/djamago/
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Milk
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You’re fast asleep as we drive past the mausoleum. I panic and listen for your breathing. It’s shallow and slight, lilting underneath the engine rattle.
It won’t always be like this, this thing where we write letters to and fro because it feels like sharing something special. It won’t always be this thing where I idealize you and you know I’m a smackhead waiting to happen. It’s just us here in the back of this van, so put me down tenderly.
Last week, I dreamed you wouldn’t stop bleeding and now I can’t stop thumbing your face to keep it clean. My eyes are stuck on your collarbones. And I wonder if you’d like me better without my top? I wonder how much of this is my pathological need to be in love. I wonder if you dream about me too.
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Simple-plain smile with no teeth and a pair of deep-set eyes like a body turned inside out, lain on the curb & illuminated by cold yellow streetlight. Her hair splayed out in spools of honey candy, little saccharine crystals. Dull, yet sweet. & she boils & steams in her bedsheets, wishing… & does she know bleeding like her childhood backyard? Does she know where it dips and climbs so slight? The way it’s looking I would hope so. Body lain out in night— black and white and easy. A rabbit in the searchlights, comatose in the lullaby of tomorrow, caught between stations. They are tapping her body like a sugar maple, sapping the spinal fluid for God knows what. & you’re watching as she’s losing time, her jaw held right by thin rubber gloves.
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Instagram poetry… usually pretty good, but there’s so much of it. Once you’ve posted a fair amount of them, people lose focus. And you struggle to out do yourself, opening up wounds more and more. Then you’re left a bloodless thing and it takes a while to reconcile with the emptiness because before everything was stoppered up. Divulging personal traumas over and over flattens them in the face of an audience that can only speak “wow, this was so powerful,”. At which point, you realize you haven’t grown or learned anything. And another thing, who am I to post? The pieces hold more value hidden underneath a pen name because of an untamed persona.
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a very important matter what was the first song in 2022 you listened to
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Naomi Elizabeth - I Have Got Your Password (2013)
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