Tag Archives: Art


You smell of fantasy,

like a book so old

that the dust on its surface

pollinates my skin.

And as I let myself

breathe all of you in,

I think of all the words you’ve uttered,

Every umm, snicker,

And lost train of thought.

My mind wanders the rails

They came off

and as I place my ear against

the cold bare metal,

I swear I hear the echoes.

I can’t help

but have such thoughts

blossom in my mind,

For whenever you are near

I am always so restless.



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I.D. ~ For feelings.js

I feel like an identity,
A strange but concrete entity.
One that can dream dreams
And nightmares as well.
But the kind that loses itself,
When so close to being found.
But let it be known
As all my inhibitions unfold,
That this too is just a mask,
And this feeling of singularity
Well, it’s just not meant to last.
And just as the many sunsets go,
My mind too will sink once more.

This little poem is quite special in that it was inspired by the words generated by the bot @feelings.js created by wonderfully creative  @katierosepipkin. I’ve only recently been delving into the world of twitter bots and found out just how poetic they can be. ^_^


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Save Me

Save me, save me.
How many times can I say
the words
that prove to you I am
lonely in a sea of people,
reciting the prayers
that make “living” a work of art
where sinners and saints
try and scrape away the dried up paint
of all the mistakes we’ve made.

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Dusty Canvas

If I have to put aside my words

Remove them from my mind


What is it that will remain?

Would my mind sit idle and still,

Collecting dust

Layering the surface as thick as my skin?

Or would I simply think upon

All my emotions in another manner?

Like a writer turned artist

Where every one of my inhibitions

Turns to splatters of paint and color

Instead of words?

For my pen has been thrown away

And all that remains is a dusty canvas.


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Painting of Ice

So many ways to describe a person. 

Can I call you a painting?

Because the way the light touches your skin can be likened to an artist putting the finishing touches on his masterpiece.

Gentle and feathery strokes.

You are unlike any other canvas. You are alive. Fresh but crisp. Pale but warm.

You are also ice floating on water. You seem to be made of the essence of everything around you. Yet you float on top.

Painting or Ice?  Now I can’t decide… 


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Sometimes I look at people and think of how they are the reason I do what I do and this is what I do.

Some days you ask me if

 I ever tire of looking at your face,

 I will always answer with a smile.

The reason is the same as how a botanist never tires

Of looking at his flowers

Or a painter his paintings.

They are looking at what defines them.

You define me. 


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Brush Strokes

Something I jotted down a few days ago… The way I see it we always try too hard to make sense of some things and it loses it’s awe when we do. This post is about something like that and me just randomly rambling 🙂 Hope you like it.

Reaching out to the people you want to be with can be so difficult. But you care so much that eventually you find a way. The feeling that comes with it can be difficult to describe but that makes it so much more beautiful.

I like how we can’t actually describe things and the mysteries surrounding us makes everything just so priceless and you can just love every moment of it. It’s like we’re all floating around in this cloud of ethereal sound that fills up our ears and no one’s quite sure what’s going on and what’s being said but we’re all here together just sharing the moment of beauty. Feels like everything‘s been drawn out on this amazing painting where these moments occur where the brush strokes cross.

I like this canvas we’ve been painted on. It’s full of colour and radiance even if the paper’s worn out a bit.



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