P.S. Message to myself: Apology accepted...


SuitCase- A Portable CoffinShe watched me from the corner, her lips askew on her deathly pale face. I had left her there months ago, this woman, this person. I had put her in the case, supposedly embalming her in some sort of portable coffin as one should for the dead. One night I heard a movement and one gnarled, skeletal finger surfaced out from below. Slowly, the zip started to flow back leaving my heart in my throat and everything else elsewhere. I had not expected anyone to resurrect themselves from the dead.SuitCase- A Portable Coffin
The zealous zipping stopped and the cover grudgingly opened. At first, a pale thigh levered itself out until a nude, corpse-like figure sat at t


I like listening to that SoundI like listening to that sound, That tinkling melody that runs through your mind, Leaving shivers down your spine.I like listening to that Sound
A robust sound quaking through your ears, A roaring symphony in your soul.
It lingers in your eyes, A caught tune, Spraying stars in your sight, A sweetened smell, To last long into the night.
An embracing touch, That leaves notes glistening on your tongue, I like that sound that captures your heart, And steals your breath, Hiding itself in your mind.
Why that sound, Whoever it may be, Bach or Chopin,


The Piano inside meI see some of my happiest and saddest moments at the piano. Sprawled across as an old woman, my heart beating its last and my skin as cold as the keys that I lie upon. You and I are alike, my old friend, my old piano. Strung up inside, finely tuned, a weaker and a stronger side. I will play you forever as others do me. They select their tunes as they please. Some brash, some melodic, some disastrous but all making sound in my organ soul. Being without you would be like death to me, an inanimate object that you are. Sometimes you collect dust when I am dealing with my animal side. Talking, seeing, eating but I always come back to you forThe Piano inside me


Memoirs of a Musical ExperienIn the attic. Thats where acting kids belong .Apparently . its eight oclock and Im sitting with six other kids (Well teenagers) while they expectantly wait for me to say who I am and where I come from. There is discussion afterwards as Im half German and half Irish which makes it a bit more complicated on deciding which country I come from. And all I can think is, Gosh, theyre so strange. But to be clear, not in a bad way. Just different. Its not like theyre socially inept, quite the opposite and theyre all quite pleasant.Memoirs of a Musical Experien
Anyway, they go along, doing the


gas station restroom hellI lower myself into the sordid stinkpit. the stench is too overwhelming-gas station restroom hell
a sulfuric stench- into the realms of hell-
gas0filled gargoyles belch toxic fumes, burning my eardrums- virulent burps- into the realms of hell-
brown muck and urine-hued liquid collect in infected pools of viral bacteria- into the realms of hell-
I cannot touch anything- these rubber gloves will surely melt from heat or plague if I do- into the realms of hell-
ash and assorted acrid accents
singe my tongue- note to self: do not brea


My Deviation BluesMy Deviation BluesMy Deviation Blues
My computers busted And I dont know what to do My computers busted
And now blaming Joe
My computers busted
Its a real shame My computers busted And thats super lame
My computers busted My scanner stopped working My computers busted
And now Im complaining
My computers busted I cant scan my new art My computers busted My friends will all think
Im a big dumb fart
My computers busted And i
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Shryx is no. 168 in =Org-infinity
THE PANSIES SAY HELLO.
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I don't care.....?......
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ai.ma
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