ghxsts bio picture

FOOD FOR THOUGHT.

Welcome to my blog!

Hello my name is: Icicle Audacity. All I see are ghxsts. I'm the misguided stride for self improvement - a sadistic, futuristic machine. A hollow cold emitted through vibrant lights, it’s a warm as wool winter but I’ve got a chill I can’t shake. This is what I am & I think I’m fine in my own misguidance. My bones are frozen, my marrow has turned to ice - my body is just a body, a corpse without a head. I'm just a vessel & my brain has long been dead.

Dylan McAmmond
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"That's really the only thing that matters to me, is that I make art for a living. And if I make art for a living... I win."

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“If you’re losing your soul and you know it, then you’ve still got a soul left to lose”

Denial is my only freedom & I’m roaming far from here. I could build you a place of grandeur and elegance where the victorian windows display the sunlight kindly, the sea below roaring beneath us a twisting string of pain & betrayal. Jagged rocks outlining the horizon – straining daily for the purity. You seem to reach so easily mucky, soiled from tragic deception. I stand close to you but the need for distance aches. When they abandon in silence, my arms open to the hushing wind – luring to set my tangled ghxsts free. There’s so much more but tomorrow only hassles what everyone turns into shame. Seagulls loudly about to take flight, a storm is brewing. While the ocean turns wild I lose you to this storm. You take a graceful fall, no one knows you fell – quietly, she never spoke a word. Did anyone know I was here? Softly writing a message in the sand, preparing to see the raging waves flow over the words and take them out to sea. The things you’ll never know, I couldn’t say them anyway. Tracing everything you ever meant – secrets the ocean has swept away.

The white dust is gone, when dusk is kissing the dawn – regret is a colorful bruise, an agonizing moment. No one was around, I only see the results. . .There’s no one that will take you for what you really are.

Life changes into a whisper of vacant days spent postured before the warm & familiar in a stoop with outstretched hands; time slices through you in tense gusts: where’s & when’s & why’s settle like stones.

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