You trace your fingers over my skin. Even with my eyes closed I can feel it: the roughness of your fingertips, the give of my muscles, the contrast between smooth and uneven as this whisper of sensation brings goose to my flesh. It is both new and familiar, as everything is between us these days.
Every so often your fingers pass over irregularities. Irregularities, that’s what I call them; puckered pieces of skin displaying the memories of another time. Another time when I was in another place. These irregularities, these scars, are both badges of honor and shreds of shame. Honor because I have created them, survived them, an
Last night I had a nightmare.
My family and I were on vacation. We were visiting a small town that was located on an island in the middle of a large swamp. I was wandering the shops on my own at this time, looking for a suitable birthday present to buy my mother. Since the weather around the island had been rainy lately, I was attracted to a selection of umbrellas. Each umbrella was unique. Some of them were soft like silk, others were cold like stone, and some were as beautiful as freshly bloomed flowers. The one that most caught my attention was a gorgeously subtle yellow in color, with hints of maroon around the edges, and, written in a p
I love you.
Did you hear me?
I said I love you.
I know I don't say it enough,
And I know you probably don't believe me,
But I do.
I love you.
I love your eyes.
I love your smile.
I love the funky way you wear your hair.
I love the stubble on your chin,
Ever present,
Even after you've shaved.
I love that your ears don't match
And your eyebrows don't quite line up.
I love that your neck is too long
When compared to your shoulders.
Kind of like your fingernails,
And how you never cut them.
And how they feel when you scratch.
I love the way you move,
How you walk with such a purpose.
And how your feet are too small for your
So I met this girl today.
Yea
Well, really, I have to use the term "girl" loosely.
I mean, at first I saw this great ass
(You know, with those tight, tight jeans?)
And then it was like,
"Woah!"
"Baggy man shirt!"
I mean, dude,
It wasn't even her boyfriend's.
Maybe I was lucky.
I asked this guy about her
And he said the first thing he thought was,
"What the fuck is that between her boobs?"
I guess she has some sort of tattoo or something.
(Although he said it was bumpy, so what kind of tattoo is that?)
Back to her clothes, though.
Did you know they were covered in paint?
I mean,
COVERED.
All of these different color
Do you remember the feeling of giving up?
The act of releasing
So close to letting go.
Almost, but for that twinge of regret.
We failed.
The days we place in stone
Make this easier to ignore
As we tell ourselves a beautiful lie.
Do you remember the taste of giving up?
It tasted like rain
And of things washed away.
Of days that were better left outside.
I tilt my head back
And when it runs over my tongue,
I'm reminded of the waves.
When I swallow it feels like sand.
Do you remember the smell of giving up?
Slightly off, as if left in the sun.
Your nostrils wrinkle
In the face of memories better left buried,
That scream to be
You trace your fingers over my skin.
Even with my eyes closed I can feel it: the roughness of your fingertips, the give of my muscles, the contrast between smooth and uneven as this whisper of sensation brings goose to my flesh. It is both new and familiar, as everything is between us these days.
Every so often your fingers pass over irregularities. Irregularities, that's what I call them. Puckered pieces of skin displaying the memories of another time, when I was in another place. These irregularities, these scars, are both badges of honor and scraps of shame. Honor, because I have created them, lived with them, and survived them, but fore
Did you hear that?
Did you hear that sound?
That tinkling
And cracking
Noise of my restraint
Slowly breaking away?
The bars,
Once so carefully placed,
Have started to dissolve.
And I don't know
If it's that I am unable to stop them,
Or I no longer want to.
Did you hear that?
That scream ripped from my soul?
Torn from my breast
And splattered over the page?
Sometimes it hurts more to whisper
Than to yell with all your might.
Did you hear that?
That scratching
And rasping
And clawing?
That is what I've kept inside.
That is what I've kept hidden for so long,
So long that I no longer know what it means.
Is it worthl
Your words are like rain.
Starting softly,
They tumble and jumble,
They gather to stain my dress.
The droplets fall
In between my pleats,
And slowly,
So slowly,
I am entombed.
Your words are like rain,
But the drips feel like bars.
They bind me to you
And I am left wondering,
Am I trying to get closer?
Or trying to run away?
It seems no matter where I turn,
I always end up back where I began.
Your words are like rain.
They wash away the past,
They wash away the pain,
They wash away the dirt
And leave me clean.
But because your words are like rain
I cannot escape,
And your voice fills my future.
The sound of my cries
You trace your fingers over my skin. Even with my eyes closed I can feel it: the roughness of your fingertips, the give of my muscles, the contrast between smooth and uneven as this whisper of sensation brings goose to my flesh. It is both new and familiar, as everything is between us these days.
Every so often your fingers pass over irregularities. Irregularities, that’s what I call them; puckered pieces of skin displaying the memories of another time. Another time when I was in another place. These irregularities, these scars, are both badges of honor and shreds of shame. Honor because I have created them, survived them, an
Last night I had a nightmare.
My family and I were on vacation. We were visiting a small town that was located on an island in the middle of a large swamp. I was wandering the shops on my own at this time, looking for a suitable birthday present to buy my mother. Since the weather around the island had been rainy lately, I was attracted to a selection of umbrellas. Each umbrella was unique. Some of them were soft like silk, others were cold like stone, and some were as beautiful as freshly bloomed flowers. The one that most caught my attention was a gorgeously subtle yellow in color, with hints of maroon around the edges, and, written in a p
I love you.
Did you hear me?
I said I love you.
I know I don't say it enough,
And I know you probably don't believe me,
But I do.
I love you.
I love your eyes.
I love your smile.
I love the funky way you wear your hair.
I love the stubble on your chin,
Ever present,
Even after you've shaved.
I love that your ears don't match
And your eyebrows don't quite line up.
I love that your neck is too long
When compared to your shoulders.
Kind of like your fingernails,
And how you never cut them.
And how they feel when you scratch.
I love the way you move,
How you walk with such a purpose.
And how your feet are too small for your
So I met this girl today.
Yea
Well, really, I have to use the term "girl" loosely.
I mean, at first I saw this great ass
(You know, with those tight, tight jeans?)
And then it was like,
"Woah!"
"Baggy man shirt!"
I mean, dude,
It wasn't even her boyfriend's.
Maybe I was lucky.
I asked this guy about her
And he said the first thing he thought was,
"What the fuck is that between her boobs?"
I guess she has some sort of tattoo or something.
(Although he said it was bumpy, so what kind of tattoo is that?)
Back to her clothes, though.
Did you know they were covered in paint?
I mean,
COVERED.
All of these different color
You trace your fingers over my skin.
Even with my eyes closed I can feel it: the roughness of your fingertips, the give of my muscles, the contrast between smooth and uneven as this whisper of sensation brings goose to my flesh. It is both new and familiar, as everything is between us these days.
Every so often your fingers pass over irregularities. Irregularities, that's what I call them. Puckered pieces of skin displaying the memories of another time, when I was in another place. These irregularities, these scars, are both badges of honor and scraps of shame. Honor, because I have created them, lived with them, and survived them, but fore
Your words are like rain.
Starting softly,
They tumble and jumble,
They gather to stain my dress.
The droplets fall
In between my pleats,
And slowly,
So slowly,
I am entombed.
Your words are like rain,
But the drips feel like bars.
They bind me to you
And I am left wondering,
Am I trying to get closer?
Or trying to run away?
It seems no matter where I turn,
I always end up back where I began.
Your words are like rain.
They wash away the past,
They wash away the pain,
They wash away the dirt
And leave me clean.
But because your words are like rain
I cannot escape,
And your voice fills my future.
The sound of my cries
I Was Born A Hopeless Romantic by ChloroformBoy, literature
Literature
I Was Born A Hopeless Romantic
but i've since dropped the "Romantic"
the urge to kiss you
drives me insane,
but that's not even
the silliest part;
You change too much,
too soon, too "too"
but never just right
Hello All!
Well, I have finally started the transition of making this account (Lussst) display only my writing, and my other account (Ooogidy-Boogidy-Ink) display only my artwork. If you have someone of mine in your favorites, please add the same artwork on my other account into your favorites, because these will shortly be deleted! Also, if you are watching this account, please watch the other one! That way you can get the best of both worlds. Its a win-win really... :)
--Kirby
I now have a new Dev account, under the name Ooogidy-Boogidy-Ink (http://ooogidy-boogidy-ink.deviantart.com). I will continue to use this account, but my main account will be the new page. If you still want to watch me and follow my art, please watch that account as well! Thank you for all your support over the years, I hope that you stick with me. :)
(Below is the journal that I put up on my new page)
Hello one and all,
This is Kirby (aka Lussst) making a new account on Dev. This account is primarily to connect to my etsy page, which is also called Ooogidy Boogidy Ink (hopefully this title will be my trademark one day! And if you want to
Life is busy, but goodly. I don't do much on this page anymore though, everything is being moved to Ooogidy-Boogidy-Ink. I'm thinking about making this account strictly literature... Dunno yet.