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aftermath of a whorea cheap make-up, fragranced lotion oblivion the spiteful skin of ripened fruit seventeen years aged:aftermath of a whore
deceitful and forgetful and insightful
just a hand full
of empty promises poisoned with the least expensive form of sincerity
Relax but don't lag behind stay alert but don't you fret give but don't self deprecate take but don't dare steal
contradictions? No, apparently they call it morality these days
each back stabbing mind is given their own knife to carve the line intersecting good and evil
to where? heaven. or mayb
by ~danyellskankhard
but today's a bit cold...blessed be the meek of mind the meek of heart, so deaf to time each booming tick echoes with alert ears wide shut--but today's a bit cold...
far too washed up in apathy so perfectly disguised as empathy, thinking of whom she needs to be, a portrait of anxiety
missing the sun of each morning, the trance of each night, too battered from losing to Herself in this fight
it hurts to move too quickly so let's settle for Mediocrity we'll cuddle in this corner away from extremity its noise hints at delight, but the joy is far too laced with risk
they say Changing leads to fighting leads to kill
by ~danyellskankhard
Politically IncorrectFucking shit. Cunt head. Asshole. Douche bag. I'd love to write down pretty words but there's nothing pretty about it. Self-deprecation. A model of no, not needless profanity, but outer Beauty. Don't call me weak tonight. This is my strength. Perhaps it's just one of those amusing ironies... I am victorious when tears manage to escape the corners oPolitically Incorrect
by ~danyellskankhard
trade you a dollar for respectScarred so deeply beyond skin or muscle or nerves or even bone Consistent with each hateful word: "too quiet, or anxious, too thin or fat" each inconvenience--always just that for if it's hot, i am the sun if it's too cold, i am the snow i am the food to a glutton the lack thereof to a bum--trade you a dollar for respect
surely it must be me, you say on a dreary, cloudy day who summoned the rain, prayed for haze in my spiteful, merciless craze
i swear by the strength of which i lack i am not the Evil Temptress on a pure man's back.
by ~danyellskankhard
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: Evergreen Park
- Interests: sex. movies. music. japan. swingsets. coloring. you know. the usual.
- Favourite movie: the science of sleep
- Favourite band or musician: weezer
- Favourite genre of music: ska
- Favourite poet or writer: miriam toews
- Email: danyellskankgard@gmail.com
- AIM: p0otermobile
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--
My gallery •*´¨`*·.¸¸.ஐ
My Store •*´¨`*·.¸¸.ஐ
--
The Shirt
by Jane Kenyon
The shirt touches his neck
and smooths over his back.
It slides down his sides.
It even goes down below his belt—
down into his pants.
Lucky shirt.
--
The Shirt
by Jane Kenyon
The shirt touches his neck
and smooths over his back.
It slides down his sides.
It even goes down below his belt—
down into his pants.
Lucky shirt.
*thunbsup* keep it rollin.
DAMN YOU JOSH! I wanted to say that...
--
Sometimes, I wonder if I've gone insane, mad, wacko, positively batty.
But then I remember; you can't go somewhere you already are.
--
A bone heals
A bruise fades
But art is forever
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