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31_days2012-07-19 10:02 pm
noir-au-blanc.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-07-19 10:02 pm
19 July - Original - Introspect
Title: Introspect
Day/Theme: July 19 – “Careful What You Carry.”
Rating: PG
Summary: The Mind Fractures
It was a feeling that she could not define, even if she checked inside her mind, or even inside her bag for anything that would trigger of her moods -- as to why it was that this particular was not something that she couldn't define and its these words that don't form, or the fluidity of colour that streams down the arm, or that pattern on ribcage.
The blend of crimson and scarlet merged superfluously over lips that are soft and mould under pressure, as its the mascara on eyes or the wind which whips around her legs - and the thought in her mind, is the one never uttered. Its the feeling that she's lost something so irrevocable that even putting it into some form feels like its the gravest thing she's ever done, that these things never quite feel right or brave.
These words were her fireflies, circling around her head like stars and they are perfection in their simplicity, laden with gravy richness and loathsome with innuendo spilt over and over, and they show themselves proudly naked with every nuance and every emotion.
And it all is all up there in her head, all these thoughts, words, feelings and stories.
All these particulars that would wind themselves around her, not to tight in case it all splintered apart, fractured and broken as if the weight of everything had torn it all to shreds -- or even worse allowing the breath to slip and slide in much like butter through the gaps and cracks to lay your mouth on mine, tongue stroking upwards to touch and count my teeth.
Sometimes, only - sometimes - were her thoughts more deadly than any weapon she could carry.
Day/Theme: July 19 – “Careful What You Carry.”
Rating: PG
Summary: The Mind Fractures
It was a feeling that she could not define, even if she checked inside her mind, or even inside her bag for anything that would trigger of her moods -- as to why it was that this particular was not something that she couldn't define and its these words that don't form, or the fluidity of colour that streams down the arm, or that pattern on ribcage.
The blend of crimson and scarlet merged superfluously over lips that are soft and mould under pressure, as its the mascara on eyes or the wind which whips around her legs - and the thought in her mind, is the one never uttered. Its the feeling that she's lost something so irrevocable that even putting it into some form feels like its the gravest thing she's ever done, that these things never quite feel right or brave.
These words were her fireflies, circling around her head like stars and they are perfection in their simplicity, laden with gravy richness and loathsome with innuendo spilt over and over, and they show themselves proudly naked with every nuance and every emotion.
And it all is all up there in her head, all these thoughts, words, feelings and stories.
All these particulars that would wind themselves around her, not to tight in case it all splintered apart, fractured and broken as if the weight of everything had torn it all to shreds -- or even worse allowing the breath to slip and slide in much like butter through the gaps and cracks to lay your mouth on mine, tongue stroking upwards to touch and count my teeth.
Sometimes, only - sometimes - were her thoughts more deadly than any weapon she could carry.