An Orgy of Creative Inspiration

I dream of a lover
who walks the halls of mist,
voice so insubstantial
that to me he must write letters..
Letters of love in blood and skin--
His hands trail over me,
as I shiver,
knowing instinctively,
to accept the message
they deliver in spirit,
reading between the lines--
Satisfaction comes out of me
a breath,
the softest of sighs--
I speak his language,
as he taught it to me,
no words necessary--
Underneath the layers
his words are whole,
as pure poetry--
He unwraps me,
unveils me,
and yet enfolds me
in the mystery
that is love--
Oh those letters,
written in blood
and skin,
sacred offerings
given on the altar of love
I seek them--
I fear them--
I find them,
entrancing--
I dance a dance feet cannot follow,
sing a song beyond voice,
know knowledge beyond flesh
feeling the beat of two hearts
as one--

Written by,Ayla Wolffe
(inspired by bellemojo)

"He writes love letters in blood and skin. I accept them in spirit, reading between the lines. I speak his language because he taught it to me, and underneath all the layers, his words are as whole and pure as poetry or prayer."
Written by bellemojo

( Stayin' Alive!Collapse )

Stealthily,sneaking,
on silent feet,
the early morning vampires
come to tap my veins--
It's Five thirty in the morning
when my bedroom light
is turned to full brightness;
all the better for them
to find their target--
I groan a soft protest
to the invasion
by the sleek, dancing sliver
soon to penetrate my flesh--
My arm offers itself,
automatically,
so as to speed the process;
there are faint hopes
that I will be able to return
to my shadowy world of dreams
once I have command
of body and mind,
once again--
The needle withdraws,
its' precious plunder obtained--
I am left in darkness,
as the early morning vampires
continue on their rounds--
So I seek to regain peace of mind--
Thus too,
I reach toward sleep
toward the solace of dreams,
if only for a few more hours--

written by, ayla wolffe
(written on august23 2005)

This is about getting blood drawn today. I was thrilled that I didn't bruise severely from it which I normally do.. What was not cool about it was that they did not get the normal amount of blood out of me that they usually do.. They had a hard time getting the minimum for what they needed.. My veins have been being tapped for so long that they are trying to collapse on the technicians.. This is not the first time I've been told this either.. I'm running some not good situations here... and frankly it's frightening.. So that is really a lot of what this is about, trying to maintain a sense of nonchalance while in the face of what could be very serious consequences.. You have been warned.


They slap, slap, slap my arm,
as the latex tourniquet approaches,
eager to embrace the inner skin
that shrinks away, knowing the friction awaiting--
The pressure unabating
as it is stretched tight--
( it gets pretty graphic here folksCollapse )

This poem is very dark, it's about my being dependent on medication for my seizure disorder all my life from when I was two years old and that I will continue to be so until I die. Whenever that should eventually be. It may disturb those who read it. Thus I am putting most of it behind a cut. Be aware of this before reading it. I actually talked to a friend of mine who is a musician today, and asked him to put this to music. He asked me what I saw going with this, I told him I really don't know, something dark. He said he'd have the first stuff as far as conceptual work done in a week's time he's already having inspirations pop into his head... Originally I posted this on soul_portraits but I think this is slightly too dark for there..


Ah, you start out slowly, always
going with the chewables,
grind it up in apple sauce,
mash it in bananas,
hiding it in pudding--
They will never notice,
that the theory anyway,
it's supposed to make everything better,
insure a saner, safer night,
a brighter day--
So you have been told
by the man in the white coat,
sitting in the office,
he's so assured,
so smooth talking,
he has all the lines,
this is how he spends his time,
going through rooms of boys and girls,
all lined nice and neat,
thinking of them just as living meat--
This is where the walk
down the 'medication highway' begins--

( Read more...Collapse )

Hair as black as ebony,
Skin as pale as snow,
eyes the color of slate--
This is how the faery tale starts,
or so they would have you believe--
For in the world of Once Upon A Time,
everyone loves and everyone grows,
those who die become a hallowed memory--
Of course there's always a
Happily Ever After--
Eventually--

But in the tale of our every day lives,
of struggling students
going about their desperate lives,
sometimes the lie is that we're keeping ahead--
Ahead of the bills,
ahead of the ills,
ahead of the looks you think you receive--
Because it's about looking
for the odd moment out,
it's about the temporary reprieve--
( this has a sucide theme bewareCollapse )

I'm actually writing this in response to an entry from chronarchy in which he says he wants all the women on his list to write about the first time(or the favorite time) that any of the women on his journal had sex with another woman. I don't think it's quite the same, because it is about my favorite lover, but it's the closest I could come. I so miss my beautiful E... And this is all true, believe me, it is...
( Read more...Collapse )

Well I'd like to say welcome to our corner of live journal. I hope all will be able to enjoy each other's entries thoroughly here! Just remember, be considerate and let 'em rip!