|
|
Post by Nicole on May 24, 2014 8:08:39 GMT 8
Head tilted trying to find the middle
Angled space between where I hear and carry
Flesh like an armour for my bony ribcage
Deep sockets in charged of my stance
Angles falling away
Toes emerge to define an end
|
|
|
|
Post by michelle on May 25, 2014 15:30:48 GMT 8
Falling away.
Falling
Into wells full of electric eels.
Into chain mail flesh
Toes escaping over the end of the bed in Winter
Land in readiness
|
|
|
|
Post by embowman on May 25, 2014 17:34:53 GMT 8
head tilted trying to locate the middle ground between flesh and ribcage before it falls away.
there is no end,
this is deep.
|
|
kynan
New Member
Posts: 4 
|
Post by kynan on May 25, 2014 19:03:53 GMT 8
balance is difficult
in the negative spaces between bones
what is it that you keep locked in your chest?
you move away, electric and seeking
|
|
|
|
Post by Jacq on May 25, 2014 19:54:09 GMT 8
Eyes reaching
Poised breath
Space supporting me!
|
|
|
|
Post by serena on May 26, 2014 16:57:34 GMT 8
Weary bones hold their formation, piled atop one another to carry us about.
Something fragile, a gentle creak is a reminder of the passing of time.
The answer lies somewhere left of the middle.
|
|
|
|
Post by tarryn on May 26, 2014 19:49:08 GMT 8
The ungraceful dance of finding the middle, who wants to find the middle? what is balance? is it mediocrity- is there balance is a world of extremes?
would you rather fade away or burn out?
|
|
|
|
Post by daisysanders on May 26, 2014 21:03:12 GMT 8
Head tilting, an inquisitive little gaze.
Small boney rib cage, tiny fingers.
Twinkles in the eye and obnoxious manipulation.
I'm wondering what I can get away with?
Perhaps I'll crawl down the end of my bed and fight the crocodile who lives there!
I KNOW it's time for lights out.
But my mad lanky legs are splayed and knock the pillow.
Crashing to the floor
and standing there defiant.
Charge that stance, go on, charge me.
|
|
|
|
Post by Ashleigh Berry on May 27, 2014 1:38:22 GMT 8
a gravity, a pull.
TO RESIST
but to resist with questioning, uncertainty.
I feel uncertain of the direction I want to be pulled in.
UP?
"do you want to go up?"
Don't be shy, there is space for you.
|
|
|
|
Post by jesslewis on May 27, 2014 13:46:16 GMT 8
A heavy warrior.
Furrowed brow and giants hands.
Once I was thrown up high to the sky.
But the armour hid those weary bones.
Angles fell away and armour undone.
|
|
|
|
Post by samantha on May 27, 2014 16:00:22 GMT 8
Ends; a toe, a finger, a knee, a head.
I used to want more, or less?
More or less?
More or less.
Is it more or less?
It's more or less.
It's a kiss.
Kiss.
It's a head inside your stomach that tells you which way to go that says this is me and that's my head.
Sent from my SM-N9005 using Tapatalk
|
|
|
|
Post by kathleen on May 28, 2014 10:12:57 GMT 8
An elastic armour for the stacking blocks
Sitting in deep sockets
Toes define an end
To the tilt of my head's angle
|
|
|
|
Post by Isabella on May 29, 2014 14:23:41 GMT 8
crying rivers of tears tilted and endlessly ongoing down straight lines to submerge in a point, against a barrier to protect and cleanse.
|
|
|
|
Post by Admin on May 30, 2014 9:06:32 GMT 8
I am beyond this
Skin and Bone
|
|
