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Estarra
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Name: Estarra
Country: United States
State: Livaria
Gender: Female
Interests: drawing, writing, poetry, fun stuff, waffles, shiny, good music, colors, fluffy things, mexican fish that must, i say MUST be yellow, anime, the people on the ceiling, the people in my head, red ducks, any ducks, insane stuff, my freinds, my enemies and their every movement, weopons, fantasy art, and so on and so forth. Oh, right. Useless trivia, my cat, er... my stories, my best freind, my imaginary pet weasel, and so on. Good music: HIM, coldplay, breaking benjiman, yellow card, dropkick murphy, cold, beck, crystal method, stutterfly, Brand New, Mest, Blue October, Lifehouse,ACDC, the Refreshments, Cake, Linkin park, The Exies, Suncast, The Switchblade Kittens, Johns Band, metallica, Smashing Pumpkins, The Vereve, The verve Pipe, Weezer, Something Corporate, trust company, sarah brightman, My sister's mixes, sister Hazel, Kill Hannah and other such happy bands of joy... And... Japanese stuff. And Canada, and Togo, and Emuania...
Expertise: procrastination, imitation of an isane person, duck trivia, writing seven or eight (or nine or ten or eleven or twelve or seven million gazillion) stories at once and never finishing any of them... Good music, useless trivia, the ability to make myself into a skitzofrenic... Soviet spies, and and... Ect ect. ect. adopt your own virtual pet!
Occupation: Other
Industry: Art
Message: message me
Member Since:
10/16/2004
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| 12:59 on a friday night, Waiting for sleep to seep into my pores so that I can go and lie in the heavy bed of my sister's friend while she breathes steadily from across the room. I am waiting for the morning, but the unfamiliar hum of someone else's fan will not let me sleep. Such a little sound echoing in the wrong bones. My head aches. | | |
| My feet are cold. always. I am always breathing always coughing at each breath. always. I am always questioning why. why always? Always, I am sinking into the ground, my bed the chair, feet first, gasping, coughing breath last. | | |
| a silver cup stands beside a silent buddha and unlit candles | | |
| lofty peaks shelter a cowering brass city, from an empty sky. | | |
| Sleep lies heavy in her bones. Covered over with years of blankets and sheets damp with the sweat of nightmares. No breath comes easy now, air whistling through passages cut by smoke. Nicotene stains her fingertips, lies just beneath her skin, like tatoos smeared to incomprehension by the stretching of age. | | |
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