seductiveriot

The way I saw them, the way it looked through the lens. The history of things. Sometimes I wonder about it, all of it. In every picture, in every captured moment. Those moments on paper or a pixilated computer screen. The things you don't see, you don't hear, the things you can't assume. The things you feel. The way he looks at his feet, the way she holds her head, the things she promised him, what everyone knows, what everyone thinks they know. The history of things. I've looked too often, out there. Always thinking, wondering, and too often wishing that I knew. When I was younger and lights were dimmer and smoke was thicker with a much har

Somehow, nothing seems to be enough to make you go completely away and that's no one's fault but my own. If there were something I could do..would I do it? Could I do it? And tell me is it wrong when I feel the warm places in my heart scream 'yes' but in the sensible corners and shelves of my mind I know that what you'd require is something that I just cannot do right now. Just give me a year, just give me until June. Just say 'yes' and run here, run to me and I won't let it go wrong again. But isn't that how it always was? You running and me holding the door shut? I wouldn't want you here anyway, I wouldn't want you to have to endure these g

I sit by a lake and I see reflections of a life that could have been slowly sinking beneath the surface. I reach and run but the closer I get the farther away she seems. It rushes through me as my heart connects to the electricity in the eyes of the children watching. I didnt let her die, I tried and I failed but she's down there now praying her final thoughts. Does she see her family all around her? Does she see the lovers of yesterday? The mistakes she could have made that could have saved her life? A wrong turn, a bit late, a missed high. All eyes are on me now as I'm dying to reach and pull her from below. The crimson lake is consuming an

I'm here waiting tonight, nothing by my side, just a picture of you and the night we once had. I don't know anyone in this tired town but I know your name and that's enough to get me around. I guess I can sit for a moment while I tell them the story of a boy who changed a life with the slightest touch of his hand and how I chased him around the world just for a chance to say thank you. So long ago I can't even recall the weather that day, I remember there were flowers in my hair when my onyx eyes met your spanish lips. You said it couldn't be that bad that I was actually going to sit in the sand until the tide came in. So we left and followed

  Here it is, your big chance to steal everything I ever thought was important. You stole my pride and you raped my imagination so I can't imagine why this little barrier would hold your lust back. For as long as I can remember I gave you everything I had but that just did not seem to be enough for you, did it? You had to have the person, the details, the life. You're so sure you're prepared for this life because you've seen your postcard snapshots on the covers of happy little magazines. You don't have the strength to pick yourself up off my floor, you don't have the dedication to walk five miles for a ten minute high just because it makes y

We cant always say we know where they came from, who they belonged to, or even where they're coming from. A footprint is much like a secluded flower, while you live your life completely unaware of it's existence and striking beauty, the moment you discover it you become fascinated. To me, a footprint is much like a photo, it's a still frame of a memory, of a brief moment and the words spoken in it, but a mysterious moment. We may never know who left the muddy footprint on that hardwood floor, nor may we ever know what was occurring in their life. We can only imagine and create an existence, one probably far more grand than the truth of realit