"The desert bears only a scathing sun, and nothing more."
"What about mirages?"

Friday, March 19, 2010

Ticking Clocks.

I'm watching the minutes tick by.
Tick, tick, tick.
Have the gears halted,
stopped turning?
Can time really stop;
a car pausing for a gleaming red light?
Tick, tick, tick.
Should we stop?
Do we have time,
to love,
to lust,
to explore
the twists and turns
of body unknown?
Tick, tick, tick.
It's 10:45.
When is my curfew?
I don't care,
all that matters is heaven,
settled and comfortable
in arctic eyes and dark hair.
Tick, tick, tick.
Time is non-existant
when I'm with you.

- - -

Wow, okay so I just found out that I'm failing two of three of my classes this semester, primarily because I spend too much time thinking and writing, but not enought doing I guess. I'm Screwed.

Basically, I have just barely a fifty in Art, because I never hand shit in. And I've got like a thirty nine in English because I never hand shit in. PLUS I never study. But on the plus side, I've got like an eighty two in social which is awesome.

Okay, I'm gonna have to put a lot more effort into this semester. I kind of have a reputation to defend here. I'm the artsy/ humanities kid. I should be rocking this like something inappropriate.

Anyways, a couple notes on Ticking Clocks. I love it. I have a pretty fair grasp of what I'm capable of when it comes to writing, but this exceeded my expectations entirely, especially considering I wrote it in english while I was severely bored. I have to promise myself to keep writing, because in the last two months, I've seen some pretty major improvements.

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"Write with our backs to the wind and our faces to the hard, bleaching sun."