the flying book

if people were elements,
then we are ice and fire.

your touch is frost upon my burning skin,
my breath melts your frozen heart.
your kiss is cool against my lips,
and my heat warms you all the way down
to the tips of your toes.

and although we could complement each other,
beckon the other away from the end of polarity
to come and meet in the middle,
too much of one

will eliminate the other.

—  and i’d never forgive myself if i caused your destruction, c.j.n.
Where do you feel most at home?” he asked.
She thought for a moment and then answered, “Up in the clouds; where it never rains, where I can be in the middle of a thunderstorm. Up where sunsets last forever and sunrises can be chased. Where I’m just a little closer to the stars and the constellations sparkle. Up where huge cities are just tiny twinkles of light and mountains are the size of my thumb. Where I remember that I’m smaller than a speck of that city light, but I am composed of microscopic atoms. I feel most at home when I have no idea exactly where I am; when I’m in between places. Something about being in an airplane, feels so familiar.
—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write, 56
“From an airplane window”
Stoned love

Stop messing round with that fire,
Living like love is just a gun for hire,
Cos one moment its just messing round,
To your wiki saying she’s your spouse,
Oh but its not just girls,
Cos yeah one moment I was tearing off her blouse,
Now she says she’s living in my house,

Babe I know you said you’d never smoke pot,
Its just; that burned Like your first splif,
Now we just hanging around in the dark, you’re pale as a ghost.
Stop messing round now, cos am too stoned,
You’re know I can’t save you cos in this game am too gone,

She’s only seventeen, and thinks at sixteen am all there is,
But a degenerate kind, baby am definitely not what you need,
She wants to dance with devil, Mr brownstone is just grave,
Oh Y’know the drugs will drown her out, just too young,
Can’t believe this is my life, smoking and fucking in the back,

“I wish I were one of them.” She muttered, her eyes following the flock of birds sitting on the power line above them.

“Why is that?” her friend laughed.


“Well,” she started. “I think we all have periods where we just want to escape, you know? To just pack all of our things away, change our hair color, our style, our name, anything to start brand new-”


“But life prevents that.” she smiled sadly. “We have too many obstacles, too many expectations, and too many pressures to do things a certain way to be happy.”


“These birds have it so easy, though.” she spoke softly, “they just fly away.”

—  Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #146
Rebirth.

Fall in love. Write a book. Paint the skies. Fly with the wind. Sleep with the stars. Dance with the rain. Swim with the river. Sing with birds. Travel with art. Meditate. Build bridges. Listen to trees. Inspire others. Feel emotions. Serve people. Fill them with positivity. Be expressive. Be faithful. Be weird. Give hope and strength. Spend time with freedom. Explore reality. Conquer fears. Fulfill dreams. Learn from mistakes. Appreciate everything. And when it’s time to die, go home. Then, there will be rebirth of consciousness.

Witchy commission for such a magical person: Anthony. “Crazeemuse”  He is amazing, go check him out, lovely ones! I loved working on this for him and there was a lot of good vibes while doing it. <3

The Bookworm

A worm had crawled out from the spine
Of a favourite book of mine
While I gazed out the Peter Pan window
Watching the sky

The worm inched up an arm as they feathered
Slowly whispered as he entered
My ear, “You hear, my girl
A world is in the sky

I’m a book worm
I’m your literary guide
Do not be afraid to fly
You must be brave
Do you believe your wishing eyes

I speak the truth
All you have to do is fly
You’ll be soaring very high
We’ll visit these places together
You and I”

I soared into a written sun
Until the book was nearly done
The sun had set a lullaby
I couldn't​ help but close my eyes

Another story had begun
Said the worm “dear little one
Don’t be shy, drifting butterfly
Spread your dreaming wings and fly”

With these words
Sung by a worm
Reading softly in the ear
Of a girl who sees the world
From the pages of a book

I visit worlds
Sung by a worm
And the whispered words I hear
From the stories that unfurl
In the pages of a book

The wise words from a worm
Said, “If your eyes are open, fly
And if they’re closed, you must be dreaming
I can’t see a reason why

You’d waste away, let feathers fray
Like the page of yesterday
If your hands learned how to write
Write the words that help you fly

And if you read
with eager eyes
Watch the words as they fly by
Touch the letters in the sky
With the wings inside your mind

Let imagination free
Write everything you see”
And the bookworm waved goodbye
Crawling back into the spine

I flew out the open window
Chased my words into the sky
Flapping arms just like a book
With written thoughts that never die

Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it’s cracked up to be. That’s why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don’t risk anything, you risk even more.
—  Erica Jong, Fear of Flying