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Tworoads on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/tworoads/art/The-Breakaway-93698196Tworoads

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Tworoads on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/tworoads/art/dreaming-in-fantasia-134218495Tworoads

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ItsxMagik

Literature

because rain is meant for...

if living were a shirt, you'd be size large and i would be an extra-small, strangled by my own attire, because i spend my time walking downtown feeling smaller and smaller every day. if ever i had the chance to hear ten thousand abbey-monks singing in perfect harmony, i would still be stubborn enough to say you are more divine. you are the start, the in-between, and the ever-after of the most destructive and beautiful storms to grace the surface of my world; every time you walk away you leave behind everything, everything, all the evidence that it will surely rain again. but i do not deserve to dance in such

Literature

two as one

you are (sometimes between) the bedsheets: me being the notched old spring mattress i am, i need to be clothed in your cushioned affection : you are my marrow: the very substance concealed in these cancerous bones, and i will rapidly reject any offered transplant : i am y

Literature

dear midnight

my earthy mattress tickles my neck as i lay down to stare at my love, but i am not looking over; i am looking up. power lines scar her stellar dark-blue face, and city lights pollute her skin like a thousand spotlights on an over-powdered model. but i am not concerned about her blemishes; no, tonight i am here to find flawlessness beneath the flaws. and so i gaze— the stars are the freckles on heaven's nose, and the clouds the hair of Venus herself. i reach up to try to sift my fingers through her wispy white locks, but find she is too far away. a single star drifts across the dark cheeks of the night, and i fear sh

this-epiphany

Literature

to map sunrises...

one day I will tell my daughter to touch herself before she ever lets a man do it for her, to learn her body-secrets and the shape of pleasure. I will tell her that San Francisco always keeps your heart. that her skin is a blank canvas, that hair grows, the value of the right kind of disrespect. that the older we get, the more we need the people who knew us when we were young. I will tell my daughter to give away the secrets that keep her up at night, and that there is never a wrong time to love someone, but sometimes a wrong way. I will teach my daughter to travel without makeup; that sometimes forever means morning and sometime

Literature

for her.

it's midnight and I'm writing love letters on my skin to the woman who raised me. it's midnight and every limb has a story. all my collarbone remembers is the frantic hurry of your footsteps when it broke under the weight of gravity and mistaken desire to fly and my broken pink umbrella, long-gone, remembers too. my elbows remember the firm pull of your hands in the grocery store. my cheeks remember your makeup and my clumsy fingers dipping in like paint pots and my neck remembers all your strands of pearls. I remember when you were young again and wearing red and holding cups of tea in hands that didn't shake yet and I remembe

Literature

Shattering.

A woman says take me home and you are struck by the fear that you will not know how to touch her right, that you have unwittingly made it this far without her knowing that this was not supposed to be your life, a life your father does not speak of and your mother doesn't understand, her eyes heavy and sad. This is the kind of life that the dishes will be the undoing of, a glass handled carelessly one day will break in your hands and that will be the thing you finally can't handle, your body crumpling against the sink, the weight of your mother's sadness, the bitter emptiness of your father's goodbye on the phone, your last trace of

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Poetry

Literature

Washing With Water

Shooting blanks and shitty whisky wishing somebody was sitting sinking with me.

Literature

compulsive liar.

once i asked you your favourite colour, and you said, "the brown of your eyes," so i put in one green contact and told everyone that i came out of the womb as a factory defect, half-priced, damaged goods. - sometimes i am from canada and sometimes i am from england and sometimes i am from spain. i've carefully tempered my accents and plotted out my stories with yellow and purple coloured pencils on index cards. my origin changes like the seasons. "why do you lie to everyone?" you ask. "why not?" i reply. - i wear nametags that read "alicia" and "liana" and "samantha," because i want to know how it feels to be someon

Literature

Contrivand

no pain t no gain a

Literature

yuumei on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/yuumei/art/Knite-Chapter-1-151132545yuumei

Literature

the lion's tooth grave of prague

The sidewalk is dyed green again with dandelion blood: white wispy limbs litter the cobblestone alongside the scars of bony stems. I am not a witness, only a passerby. I stand in awe but not in sorrow of the departed dandelions, their souls crushed under street mower hell. I pull a survivor from the grass and breathe to strip it of its flesh so that its wish is granted: to not be left alone.

Literature

Blinking

Red bell-shaped blossoms An emerald hummingbird Gone at second glance

The Breakaway

Tworoads

Published: Aug 3, 2008

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Description

_{For Crowe's birthday in 2008.
Love you!

Edit: watermark, etc.

_______________
Stocks:
bg =flordelys-stock| horse ~Rainwood-stock
water brushes *redheadstock| texture ~Gradashi
hairbrushes ~AutumnsGoddess-stox

_{No manipulation of mine is allowed for blogs, livejs, or any layout/profiles on any sites, nor wallpapers without permission. Please respect this rule.

The Breakaway ©~Tworoads
No critique on gifts please.}}