carrian crow

I can't say that I'm enjoying all the madness that life is throwing in my face these days. But back in the day, I had actual fun, and I am grateful for the memories.

[carriancrow44]

Blue jay having a drink

[carriancrow44]

Very sad

Wanted to write that i feel dread.

Everything that I fucked up.

None of it was in my head.

It happened so long ago.

My feelings burning eternally.

Like misplaced lust sitting alone in a library.

[carriancrow44]

Cute

[carriancrow44]

Come fly with me!

[carriancrow44]

My lids are twitching

A soft place to lay my thoughts out

[carriancrow44]

Signing up.

Zoning out. They take up time. They eat up space. They just wanted to be alone. The mind aches. The teeth chatter. They're on the phone, but it doesn't matter. Times up. Another day. Another memory has gone away. Its sharp teeth drip with saliva. It looks like aspic. It’s clear with no taste. Goodnight.

[carriancrow44]

[carriancrow44]

[carriancrow44]

[carriancrow44]

[carriancrow44]

[carriancrow44]

[carriancrow44]

The Stirring Of An Isolated Incident:Tiny birds flap their wings then become bullets shooting past me and above me.They know a storm is inevitably on its way.A solitary hornet finds solace in an abandoned carpenter bee’s wooden slat of a home; a circular hole drilled to perfection.Beneath a brown ceramic owl; it’s only sole purpose to decorate a wrought iron trellis; hangs a two by four inch rectangular shaped weather station.Encircled by numbers, the thermometer and humidity percentage look like crazed, angry owl eyes.High up in the grayness of this isolated, balmy weather, an osprey is flying nonchalantly from the Long Island Sound, north to southwest where her nest on the lamp post has been for years on the Riverhead side of route 24; a flounder clutched in her talons.A rumbling much like the sound of falling boulders approaches from the north.The bright green leaves of the sycamore trees flip in the updraft as the warm wind increases in power.A few minutes later a whip crack of lightning shatters the calmness.I feel and taste the energy in the air, as if I’m sticking my tongue against a live battery.The hazel colored clouds finally release their built up moisture. One by one, the large, wet drops darken the wooden front porch steps.

I wrote this back in 2016 with my old handle methodaddictwriter. I don't drink or smoke pot anymore. I barely smoke cigarettes. I have no desire to write at all. Directions, information. Idk. Idc either.