Mar 15, 2016
Why do you appear in my dreams as if I've given you the key. We spoke about this. I told you to evacuate my thoughts. She's not listening to me. My mind. You've been my muse for months now. I don't think that's going to change.
DKFASH
seen from Macao SAR China
seen from Kosovo
seen from Malaysia
seen from Australia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Georgia
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from Poland
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from United States
Why do you appear in my dreams as if I've given you the key. We spoke about this. I told you to evacuate my thoughts. She's not listening to me. My mind. You've been my muse for months now. I don't think that's going to change.
DKFASH
Ha! Sometimes the devil is closer than you think. Check that mirror boy!!
DrumWar.
Would be a lie to say that I don’t see, but at times its best to keep silent. They want a drum war. I’ll beat loud. Loud and silent. In the middle of summer when the snow falls, half naked with a fuck me sign, growing in a flower pot. A mind full of thoughts, a pen lacking ink. I only have selective stories to tell, ‘l don’t control this’ she yells. It does me. It’s hard to speak on what’s really in the gut. Most times, because I don’t really know what’s there until I read back what my hands have written. Coverd in blood thoughts. Fingers still aching fom their crimes. In truth and in ink. I murdered me. Will I look back to show you what you wish to see? No. If I sound into the night will you catch my screams, lay them on your wall and paint me saved? Meh. New texture, new colour. Feng shui’d up. Paint me, let the years go by as I dive into you. Will I be saved then? If not, at least we’d both have received some satification. Physical trophies. Now I know the trophy which wishes to be won. Now I know the story wishing to be told. I and you. You and I. Here we are again. HERE we are again. WE lacking strength to give into pride. Argue, with dilated pupils and scrumpled eyelashes into each other with resentment, hating the fact that we want what lays in front of us, toooo afraid to take chances on a connected tomorrow. Again, with the broken hearted poems, which is so evidently locked within a cresent chamber inside my womb, beckoning to be free. Independent girl, Please! with the pen it gives birth to this muderous ink to tell tales of my inner most secrets. Again! Please why don’t you? Why don’t you? Paint me as that broken hearted chick, again. Let the world see my vulnerability. Twins and triplets, let me continue to give birth until words are no longer needed and silence becomes my story. For I’d rather get this out of my system. Than die with a womb full of letters…
baring your seeds..
Dkf…