shula-eWhisper

American
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August just as NovemberWe go out running. / Loudly our silence shrieking / back and forth with the wind
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4k
Pillowtalk JazzWrap your legs around me tonight, / he begs / Whisper to me through the web
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3.2k
What you miss in the aftermathI miss having you around to say the little things you would say to me, to make it ok. Sweet little lies, perhaps. Perhaps not. / I miss your eyes, with that twinkle inside, with the exclamation points after them, with those crinkles on the edges, especially when you are all vulnerable and cuddly. Funny the weird details that come back up in your memories. / I miss interrupting and correcting you, in the rudest way possible.
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1.6k
Suicide for dessertAfter lunchtime, and before tea / Donna quietly bade farewell / to Mr. Samuels
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1.4k
Refund on LifeWhat does traffic smell like / Chokes and gasoline and heartbeats gone amok / why are the streetlights so aggressive to my eyes
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1k
Scaling the SunI wasnt supposed to but we went out running anyway. Call me an adulteress, it doesnt matter by now. Ill never reach these places with him that I do here. Here the wine flows down our throats and the wind rips down our hair and backs. And yes for the millionth time we live out fantasies that in others just lay there / dormant in their coffins for etertinity / my heart is an explosion
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907
We always Love the DeadWhat could I know of what goes on in the distorted mind / But you were my preferred poison if ever I should drink any Now I'm thirsty, anyone can see / Parched
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902
A Whole New WorldLike strangers Uninvited / Into each others domain / I crept a little closer to u
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900
By the bank of her broken dreamsFull of anger and sweet sorrow, the fragile butterfly desperately wants a home. She wants the sunshine, she tries to be the sun. All is fair in love and war. Her wings chip away when she is dropped all the time. But this is the price she pays for flying to high places. And beleiving. The price she pays for embracing the wind so unconditionally, for shedding her colors onto gray spaces all because she knows color and about how joy is attained. Her screams are so silent and pierce through the ears of all the rocks of all the mountains. Thus she has no defense but the voice of the mute. She stands alone on legs so weak in a courtroom of lions. She wonders whether she might sometime be granted the privelage from the wind to be carried off and spread into many many different things out into the stormy waters of the ocean. Perhaps then through multiplication, she might be cancelled out. She gazes longful of such a plight out onto the water and by the bank of her broken dreams she sits down to weep.
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831
Bodies of Water and Bodies under stoneI always encounter different versions of you here / By bodies of water and bodies under stone / I’m trying to figure the symbology
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787
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