"When a poet digs himself into a hole, he doesn't climb out. He digs deeper, enjoys the scenery, and comes out the other side enlightened." -Criss Jami, Venus in Arms. My name is Crystal and my work here is, in essence, a virtual diary. My writes all have some tie to something I am currently (or was) experiencing. I have a strong love of literature, the arts, astronomy and music. Thanks for reading (: NOTE TO READERS: If you find it necessary to leave a bad score on any of my works, please be kind and state the reason so I'll know which areas I need to improve in. Thank you! |
His touch electrocutes the air
circling me, his hands are vultures...
I live here, a world away.
Bizarre birds and beasts...
Your scent
is like a cigarette smoke film...
The sun fell through
the wires of a dream catcher...
I can recall the frigid months
and the way the harsh wind...
I hear it rains diamonds
on Jupiter, so paint my vagabond soul...
My brow
is creased...
You said you were
terrified of open water...
There was something about the way she danced...
in the low light of that Greece sunset...
Her heart froze
years ago, slowly...
He was the source |
Find people who don't make you want to write sad poetry. And once you do, keep them forever. |
I don't want to fall in love, I want to be breathed into love. I need for it to feel as natural as the air filling my lungs. As involuntary and as sustaining. |