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Kyra Amber James
- UK
- Last Record: 2013-06-05 05:25:07 -0700
- Joined: May 27, 2011
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And it'll be something of a spectacle, it's a place I go to when I close my eyes. Rooms with no ceilings, an ever winding staircase to the dwelling of my dreams. And as much as they appear, they leave, and I'm stuck on this step. Staring up to where the rainbows meet the birds, I never feel quite good enough. I'm always cloud height, and it's a dense fog that hangs neck high. I'll reach up through cotton wool and the glitter that litters my imaginings. I might just come unglued, watch my feet start ascending the spiral that I create, the halls lined with spinning plates that drip primary coloured paint. This is the state of affairs where my troubles hit the floor below like sprays of gravel- sprinkle in with stars and when I reach home I'll remember that my dreams are lined with gold. |
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I'll stare and shape As the grey cumulous billows And I'll fluff and I'll pound And make them my pillow
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I'll travel like the sun, deceptive in the time frame it takes from one pole to the next. I'll map each star sign like an alignment, and it'll sweep over like the clouds, pencil shading co... |
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Clicker shuts, it's this drip, drip, drip that ails me. Speak in algorithms, print out a... |
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There's a wall shaped like me. It's made of iron and brick and other things. It wears my make up, grafted from the residue of the night before. It walks rigid, and plasters a lip lined smi... |
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Look back and it'll hurt my heart, to see what time has worked. What we've become, outgrown, undone, and part shadowed. I've been eclipsed for the span of an eternal millisecond, a break in the ... |
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I'm panning for gold and it's the sinews I find that are the bare bones of my soul. Liquid infrastructure, impermanence and reverence, the day stands still in the moments that I watch it all cha... |
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There's a thunderstorm brewing in my stomach. Counting down from fifteen to *rumble.* |
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I always wanted to be a sock surfer.
But I've never had the balance to ride the wave. |
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Do you recollect what I recollect? Is it a ripple over the skin of time, drumming with the skies tear drops into tommorow... Rain dance, it's miraculous. My eyes a green hue over your blue and w... |
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Creative tension, like a colander it strains and condenses into thick molasses. Stir it in, it bubbles to the surface. Rework the sculpture, it's acupuncture to this muscle seizure. Release, the... |
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Light a cigarette on these dusty roads and watch the match ignite a firestorm, hazing through a quiet blaze, it lights the back way- I see the smoke and it's... |
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How many threads of twine attach me, when I'm as fragile as a liquid bubble- when my feet leave the dusty plains of this existence and I'm astral, reaching for gas giants. It must be many, as th... |
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