When you get the feeling that something inanimate is looking back at you, or that the cold intent of the wind on your neck is chillier still than your expectation, you can be forgiven for that moment, where you would rather kill yourself, than live through the next minute.
If one were lucky, seconds only would pass. But as those seconds accumulate into a minute, and those minutes huddle into an hour, and those frightened hours mass into days, like refugees during the aftermath of destruction, when the real misery, the hard, enduring *misery* is born, one begins to wish that opportunistic moment of suicide had passed indulged.
Now the people
Drifting Underground by larnyxcreatura, literature
Literature
Drifting Underground
Peoples' shaded grey faces linger in the indigo air.
Obscure identities flapping in the wind,
Precarious as a child's scarf caught
In the gust of oncoming train.
Alight here.
Night to fire the flight off seat,
Moth you are to the ground illuminated.
Salt unstrewn, and iPods ablast.
Those desolate platforms,
The people caught between dimensions,
Vacant eyes wonder over the ghost trains -
Lost until they smell the sounds of the carriage home.
We plant ourselves on geometric triangles.
Feel a little grounded when not touching the ground
*The Ground.
Goodbye, stranger.
I'll remember your beard.
Your drooping breasts in b
When you get the feeling that something inanimate is looking back at you, or that the cold intent of the wind on your neck is chillier still than your expectation, you can be forgiven for that moment, where you would rather kill yourself, than live through the next minute.
If one were lucky, seconds only would pass. But as those seconds accumulate into a minute, and those minutes huddle into an hour, and those frightened hours mass into days, like refugees during the aftermath of destruction, when the real misery, the hard, enduring *misery* is born, one begins to wish that opportunistic moment of suicide had passed indulged.
Now the people
Drifting Underground by larnyxcreatura, literature
Literature
Drifting Underground
Peoples' shaded grey faces linger in the indigo air.
Obscure identities flapping in the wind,
Precarious as a child's scarf caught
In the gust of oncoming train.
Alight here.
Night to fire the flight off seat,
Moth you are to the ground illuminated.
Salt unstrewn, and iPods ablast.
Those desolate platforms,
The people caught between dimensions,
Vacant eyes wonder over the ghost trains -
Lost until they smell the sounds of the carriage home.
We plant ourselves on geometric triangles.
Feel a little grounded when not touching the ground
*The Ground.
Goodbye, stranger.
I'll remember your beard.
Your drooping breasts in b
My own reality is a hybrid of Synchronicity, Determinism and the Butterfly Effect.
18 Male Pangender In a relationship: 5 months
Aspiration: To be happy. I don't seek happiness, rather life bestows upon me the gift of happiness every now and then. It is a beautiful and profoundly fulfilling energy, and it is all that matters - enjoying happiness with the ones I love.
Lesson: Let go of perfection. Now I know what happiness feels like, I am no longer constrained by the phsychoticism of perfection. Engage imperfections and flaws. I never edit a photo fully now - to engage my humility, and remind myself of the beauty in my imperfection.
Current Residence: London Personal Quote: One should either be a work of art, or wear one
Thank you very much! Do watch out for me. Soon, I hope to get a DSLR, so the quality and opportunities will boom (I currently use an old digital camera from 2005...)