| Brown-eyed girl of wheat fields and architecture - lover of oak floors, 80's zombie horror and tabby cats. CONTACT: amberfiges@hotmail.co.uk STALK: myspace.com/amnesiadolls SEE MORE: [link] |
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In This Silence.last night i sat in the twilight of my bathroom at 3am in an anoymous man's american football jersey and today i am covered in bruisesIn This Silence.
the bathroom tiles are colder than i remembered
by ~ambergoodwinfiges
FingertipsFingertips on bare thighs are the same as hot summer rain down my spine at the break of midnight as i sit in the window where the trees are breaking in underneath the frame, and the night mingles with the wet andFingertips
rouses my bare arms
Artist's hands' lifting sheer silk shifts are the same as the gentle words of the cat at my feet and the Sylvia Plath anthologies littering the floor, and the silent unfurling of the lillies like milk - the ones you bought me - as they sit
in the middle of the room beside your dreaming heart, chest rising and falling like bellows or
the trees gatheri
by ~ambergoodwinfiges
Crawl SpaceNothing runs in my head Lying in the mass of papers and pills on my bedroom floor Nothing runs in my head Runs from my wrist The pricking of blood I wish it to be as deep as the stain of my nails Chipped from a party I went to and did not enjoy I wish it to be significant, to prove something Nothing runs in my head Like the space at the end of a video tape Like the space at the beginning of a video tape But I don’t really mind which, in my selfish state As one is just as desperate as the otherCrawl Space
It’s getting cramped up here It has been slowly fi
by ~ambergoodwinfiges
ChildDagger points, crisp impressions of red, green – Behind her he swims in lemon silk seas, loose braids tumble Down a flat back. 6 and 7, her garden under the apple trees, Their fruit fallen, their fruit yet to fall.Child
A stream past the mesh fences, laps at her gown and they
Giggle in fresh cut grass, youth cut suddenly in sharp white sun.
And they do not know, they are 6 & 7 and their fruit is yet to fall They do not know of the dagger points other than those that make their crowns, that are cold, and real, and merciless. That carve at flesh Tear child from mother &n
by ~ambergoodwinfiges
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