if nostalgia doesn't kill me first

*photos via we heart it and wetbehindtheears. Also, the collage-like images are by an artist who refers to himself as hyperborean on deviant art.com. His...or perhaps it's a her?...anyway their art is really awesome so, check out their full profile and gallery to see all of the works. 

*After thoughts:

In case anyone has noticed, nostalgia is clearly a huge inspiration for me in my writing and well, in my life as well. I definitely associate the feeling and/or being of nostalgia as a pleasant sort of ghost who is gold as nostalgia to me is visible in certain moment of light. Particularly in the kind of gilded light on my windowsill that falls in early morning or mid afternoon. I just thought I would explain that further in case anyone did not understand the comparisons that I have made several times on this blog.

*Also, last evening I just watched the movie, Whatever Works by Woody Allen. It stars Larry David and Evan Rachel Wood...and it was pretty awesome. Any fans of Curb would definitely love this quirky film.

three petals left

three fallen petals drop against the glass

tainted in red velvet, the cold surface

they drop one by one with slow candor

sunrise forgotten without regret

you too, will remember how

 to forget.

each rose petal, once one with an

intrinsic budded whole, pleads to 

be left alone. but we still remember

the grace and style by which they fall

forget me not, remember me in red

for golden nostalgia shall be stricken

in love so dehydrated and nourished 

thoroughly throughout the fall

let it bud alongside the blue of the moon

for each dear sequence of frozen memory

will water the darkness and manifest our

gradual bloom

the secrets embedded in each petal unfold

to stain our minds in color

and we will forget how to remember

how to forget the process of regret

i will not forget the fumes of the rose bush

the day our hands met

-mm

your eyes toxic with asshole evils

and your mouth stuffed with slices

of the 7th most deadly sin

and eats up all your stolen words just

to spit them right back out at you

just after they had lost their flavor

your arms loaded in bronzed danger

could lift me up to see the sun in the 

golden afternoon while every ray of 

darkness, blackens out our hearts;

and love forms a sweet cancer

each moment melting nostalgia

and her hazy after thoughts, erasing

those not to be remembered 

each gilded glimpse to bleach the mind

without you and your transparent smile

I will with in time, forever savor

 your heart is a scarlett flower

burning in blue smoke

withholding my own, with its poison apple

ashes dust away, sweetness rotted sour

your flower is tangled between the ashy vines

and wilted promises 

dying underneath your tar scented leaves,

it beats along to black magic, its aching

power

because I ran out of water ,

 I used my spit to bloom the flower

and then senseless sun pleads with me not

and dries out the beauty of you

 too soon,

forgot

It rains now in excess

but it's too late now.

i give up and bow

for nature has won again

and always will

-mm

bullets of rain

drop and fall

like mirrors-

broken-

into a million peices

of rotten diamond.

scattered upon the black concrete-

shattered above all the melted minds

tossed into an underground dumpster-

lost.

broken fragments melt away to nothing

a mere peice of ourselves before 

we dehydrate at last

who we were before them each time-

who we are now-

another chip off the whole of a diamond.

-mm