Re-mixed (literally) to sound less muddled than the previous upload. Hope it’s alright.

I hope I’ve done it some sliver of justice. Listen with headphones or twin speakers or not at all please.

restlessreverberation:

This void is for me
This void is for you
The forest and the breeze aren’t the only truth
For sooth, I see behind the tree
A golden youth;
A poem that has yet to be written
A verse hurt and estranged
Flesh yet to be bitten in the hour of change

And yet I say, come perch upon my shoulder and be not changed
For the world outside is not pretty; no, my dear it’s quite deranged

If your heart is heavy, come now
If your pace is unsteady, state how
If it is by an ungraceful bound
you are lost, just stay
For in that way, you will be found.

ghoulnextdoor:

This is a collage piece by Florian-Ayala Fauna, called “phantasmata i”. She also has an etsy shop.  Here is some additional data on the artist: “Florian-Ayala Fauna is an artist, musician, and androgyne who works from Indio, California. Their work has been exhibited in museums such as the Centre Pompidou in Paris, France. Working in a variety of styles and mediums, Florian’s work seeks to explore the relationship between humanity and nature, dark and light, and other dichotomies frequently questioned inside and out of the art world.”

(Source: )

Suspension

(Source: malformalady, via luanlegacy)

Losing my voice, screaming, yelling, crying to no one

always looking for pieces of me in anyone

Never finding them, and trying again and again and again and again and a-

all that’s left is a whisper

a sliver of hope

and in my throat

a golden bell hanging from a silver rope 

a sound I can’t choke

I broke my noose

my throat may be sore

but I’ll let loose

my mighty lion’s roar

and we’ll call it a truce.

What solace have I, left in these trees
What sort of spirit has come from this breeze,
Has this puddle finally gone dry
And is it simply because you’ve yet to walk by

I ask myself if you are water under a bridge
And I tell myself to remain calm
I am staring at a reflection of the world in which I once lived
All that’s left is a gentle psalm

When a droplet of rain
is louder than a battle cry
And I find my clothes stained
with glances from your eyes
I’ll find myself no longer in pain
and I won’t even care to know why
As now I don’t even dare to ask why the rain is applauding me as my memory of you dies

I look up/out into the skies.

Watching the moon pass by my window
it’s rising and sinking like a healthy undertow
it’s pushing and pulling like a sea
it resembles how badly I want you beside me

it’s a humbling love I seem to have
when my whole starts to become my half
I would leap over rooftops, just to hear you laugh
its genuine texture unchanged by symbiosis
its natural tone measured in height, not diagnosis
un-matched by any perceived graph

As I’ve struggled to fit in with much contortion
from you, this has been met with much retortion
I find loopholes aren’t so deep
I try my best to avoid distortion
and at all costs, hopeless absorption
But I have trouble finding room to sleep

I could rest upon your eccentricity
like a fresh paint pallet, only fueled by electricity

or a corral ballet staged at random, at whimsy

I could liken you to a seagull in flight
always on the go, as if by some phobic plight
but you always return to your home at night

Is it truly me who’s captured your sight?

itsonlypaperbirds:

That’s how the light gets in.

And so the flowers are in bloom

Allegory after allegory, like fresh spider webs spun
Malice is the category of the reference to the sun
And you are the only one that these words seem to flow over like a fountain of ink
Or could you ever begin to think
Could you ever fathom how true;
How one such as me could love one such as you?