You’re wet and snotty. Yet so comfortable. And you hug me thight though out the night
You’re great friend
The place where he rested his head
was warm, This isn't just a pillow, but a witness of his silent tears, This pillow absorbed the pain in his soul, Comforted him during his darkest moments, and listened intently to the whispers of his heart...
For those young men who are lonely and defeated, the pillow is a huge blessing.
step by step brick nail by nail snail sitting in the hair of a willow dandelion pillow
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, do you know when you can't get him of your mind???---yup I just jut that down---again:]
the heavenly blues they contain in the hellish echoes that remain sealed in the air bitters and sweets clicks and blinks close the drowns let it drink silent yet so loud for the ears to bleed keening in question marks on the hungry pleads they feed a staring moment to them a second in the blur saved in the heart buried in the soul until the other occur is it in a charming color is it in a warming memory is it in a meet of fated destiny make it stop make it stand let it slip out stay in the hand not for tonight for eternity not for tomorrow for serenity from a contagious bit of confusion a whispering musing dance of illusion put the dare in the hence it is then to keep to fence lies in there decomposed so smoked so slow lift the hem of my pillow ------ravenfeels
Lust is the pink pillow on my bed.
Plump, filled with unwashed thoughts. At least they’re encased in dusky pink; pleasant to the eye especially in the golden minutes absorbed by sheer glass. I want your head pressing into the pillow, hard. Then your sleepy breath will baptise the cotton after sinful acts. I’ll preserve the dent you make with the lovely weight of your skull. I’ll surround the chasm with carnations. Eventually, they’ll be a line outside my room. Jealous tourists wanting to take pictures.
the clock read 4 am
in new york city, one hell of a city i was at a little coffee place, still open it was one i frequented often, when in the sin a place of pity when you look closely at the people or inspect the buildings a bit nearer some street blocks you need just look down but i'd bought a cup for a nice young fella out on his luck he'd made the pavement his pillow and as he talked my ear off on physics, domestic politics, and stocks i thought of what little difference it made to so many whether it was him or i calling my stay on the straightaways and the little that made us separate
warm until I wake
I know I am conscious with a sudden chill but my eyes stay closed and my body is stone I whisper take me back and I suppose I shall pretend until my pillow answers
can pillows talk
They’re hunting me down
He tore my gown This night was supposed to be magic But I know now it can only end tragic A gunshot resounds and I taste sounds The last thing I see Is my blood splatter on a tree The last thing I hear My own scream, ringing in fear The last thing I smell Is the dirt I hit when I fell Warm brown eyes full of enchanting lies Wouldn’t let go, and on this forest floor My blood slowly dries He wouldn’t take no And he wouldn’t let go So here I will fade In a pillow of snow
I wrote this when I was eleven and I just felt like it should be my first share, baby.
One for my heart
One for my body One for my soul
I have a serious question here
That my friends refuse to answer. Am I the kind of person That people don't want to be around? I'm tired of pretending I have to be someone else in order for people to like me. Where is the one person that I can be myself around?