2014 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here's an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 630 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 11 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Words

Do you know what the truth is?
Do you believe in lies?
The words that slither out,
Are they bells of joy?
Or ashes to my burnt out cigarette?
Do you believe in words?
Be careful she had said,
Words are words.
Corruption of lust ,
Mixed to lure you in.
They will disintegrate you,
Leaving you to be,
But ashes to your collective cigarette trays.
Once, you are trapped in that cage of words
What will it be?
Surrender to your knees?
You are kneeling to a once bagger,
You foolish little thing.
Words are words,
She had said once before.
-Di Maggio Carolina 💋

Treats For You Pumpkin

I’ll kiss you to sleep my love.
It was you that showed me wrong,
it was you that brought me down.
I’ll kiss you to sleep my love.
For all I ever wanted,
Was to see you down on your knees.
Laying on your grave will do,
for now.
Sweet dreams buttercup.
Always know,
It was I that,
carved your heart out and indulged on its beating flesh.
Xo Oceana💋
-Di Maggio Carolina

The Fleeting Butterflies of The Orchard

He wanted her.
He needed her.
Every inch of her body,
Every strand of her hair.
A beast hungry for her warmth,
Dying for her cold pressed inside him.
Her scent stoned him still.
Her touch unleashed him, free.
He dreamt of her smile.
The melody of her laughter was on audio tune in his mind.
Addicted to the choirs she played.
A replay of her voice leading him to that mystical orchard,
Wonders of green and gold, where the music never ends.
Il profumo di Rum che scendeva giù sulla sua bocca, come farfalle intossicate di ballare.
Intossicato per lei.
He reached for them but he failed, he followed their dance, they followed her voice through the scarlets of red towering mountain high.
But,
Did he find her?
Did he love her?
Love each and every vein that swam through her breasts?
Drawings of shadowy webs, entwining to blooming crisp leaves.
Know, that her skin raised by the thought of blood drop?
Velvety drops on an open scar wound, melted her eyes, dried up her smile.
Did he trace his finger alongside her back?
Writing, ‘I’m lost without you,’
Connecting to each of her beauty mark.
Did he enjoy the night sky as much as she loved the moon glimpse through her window?
Did he know, that needed was never in her agenda?
No,
He only saw her,
Not through her.
Cryptic character she held.
He couldn’t solve her riddle.
He only held eyes,
Eyes that saw her,
Not through her.
For that,
She drank herself asleep.
For she knew, that today was lost.
For tomorrow she held a burial, but for tonight,
For tonight she held her hand out,
and a bottle to his quiet heart.
He tasted her flesh, she let him choke to death.
Cannibal he was,
But,
So was she.
Never follow the fleeting butterflies of the orchard.
For they have no grounds.
You’ll never know where they’ll lead you,
A blooming orchard,
or
A flesh eating bed of Pink Roses, dancing to her melody of his everlasting blackened night.
-Di Maggio Carolina

You Remind Me of Autumn

“The way you pronunciate your words are toxin to my ears.
Your tone is rough to each syllable.
An Alien you must be.
Your thoughts, the words you declare out loud, it is simply a flutter of scarlet leaves, on a soon to be bare tree.
You remind me of Autumn, dark to thee hair, yellow to thee eyes, velvet to thee lips.
An Alien you must be.
Intoxicated I assume,
yet, no spirits I breathe in.”

Intoxicated by my own mind.
Yes, I do admit.
Have no idea what sobriety must feel like.
I would rather never find out.
So, an Alien I most certainly be.
In a world drunk on rum,
while I sip on my thoughts.
-Di Maggio Carolina

Cries Of The Unspoken

This fork of mine,
just threw itself on my road.
Now what? Which one do I take?
My skin,
crawling to hide.
Just want to cancel it all.
All of it.
My eyes,
Have seen too much.
My ears,
Have heard too many cries.
My tongue,
Has spoken too many languages,
Words I can’t even recall.
Lies I can’t even trace back.
A life I’ve forged,
Too well.
Cancel it all.
Maybe then,
I’ll find an arrow instead of a fork.
-Di Maggio Carolina

Bearings of the Vines

She admired her skin.
Silk flesh blanketing her body, a lit white candle,
sheeted of pure horror.
Touching herself to feel each and every raised bump on her core.
She reached in, grabbing her heart,
beating it was, to each of her breaths.
Biting her lip, she knew the fire she held would burnout with the wind of time.
So, she loved herself, more than she loved to watch the sun rising each dawn,
while the moon lied on her bed; naked, bursting in flames.
A curse of hers, she couldn’t keep them all.
So,
she watched them go,
all of them.
One by one, insects to her now, grotesquely to her liking.
Her world didn’t match theirs.
No,
it didn’t pertain to her,
she had no room to groom a beast of the shadows.
She had her own plan, they were merely a distraction.
With every lonely night, a touch of their hand,
she only bear with a glass of Red.
It was foreign to her,
warmth didn’t suit her, it shook her to the ground.
The death of her sun,
she paraded with her moon.
Until it was time to howl to her own grave.
‘Til the next resurrection, and a new flame would lit.
It was up to her to keep it glassed in, or let life take it’s course.
And the wind take the lead.
The vines of the bearing, streamed with one another.
-Di Maggio Carolina
#sidetracked #distraction #bearingsofthevines #whitecandle

Vines Of The Unknown

I want to awaken the creature that bellows within me.
I want her to stand tall.
Take pride of her stance, her reluctant grin.
I want her to walk the earth with the fear of not knowing all.
And forever she’ll fiercely strengthen her mind each second of her days.
Redeeming herself.
I want her to be cruel to the wrongs, kind to those who bleed the same love she holds.
I want her to lesson the weak,
show them her inked flesh.
Not to be ashamed,
for each letter on her body,
helped her live one more day.
The hope she held dear to her heart, bled a drop each day.
Leaving a trail of her past.
Silk droplets of herself, sheeted her days.
She’ll wrap herself around with a blanket of glass.
For whomever she’ll meet,
she’ll cut through them,
carving their flesh,
feeling the terror of their open sins.
Bathe in their blood,
make love to their dreams.
I want her to be known, as a walking, breathing masterpiece of the loss- soon to be ‘KNOWN.
She’ll be the heroine of their world,
warrior of the open world.
Oceana, she’ll be called.
-Di Maggio Carolina

Always has.

Supposedly it’s in me, always has.
I stumbled upon a fallen branch,
that is when it all came clear to me.
It was always in me.
The blues, rawness of my flesh.
An adequate excitement as a woman is to a man.
The adrenaline that I desired, dripping through my fingertips, flowing delicately down, silently, without disturbing the sleeping rose.
I held the strength to rise from the fall, not to dwell on a few open gashes.
It’s been in me all along.
For my tears,
I hope to never close.
No.
I admire each and every on my body.
A puzzle to compose, each aligning to create the masterpiece of what it will be known as, Oceana.
And on my closing day, I’ll reminisce my walkway by following my bloodline.
All leading to you,
my Oceana.
-Di Maggio Carolina

The Owl

The Owl.