careworn and smiling with a crooked grin, adoration slept in the wrinkles beside his eyes as he observed the mosaic beauty. she held his callused palm in hers and whispered to the moon; "tonight, we're monsters." romanticism isn't always beautiful.

loitering illegally in the graveyard ___________________________________________ a poetry book dedicated to every cell in your body @timespieces Copyright 2017

I TRY TO PUT COSMIC INTERCONNECTEDNESS INTO WORDS.

harking back to an earlier poem of mine: poor wendy -- all the heroines get left behind. but she was a darling after all. yes, i very much have tears in my eyes. and it shall be hard to see, and sometimes i won't want to, but i will go on looking anyway. this collection shall be under the tutelage of sylvia plath's poems, and the bell jar and her lovely tortured head, in which i see something quite like mine. i hope it is enough in the end. do tell me if you've seen them. with love eleanor

A poisonous pool pertubatively plenteous and packed with programs in which Christopher, this poriferous punk provokes with pleasure, pines in pain and ponders with poetry, 2019 Watty Winner. Featured on Wattpad's official Poetry; Random.

Everything remembered must be forgotten. The gods are glorious, and then they are not -- history is an ongoing clock. It trudges on.