Winged animals don’t have much choice in their method of transport… they fly! They can fly east, west, north south, high, low. To a nearby tree or a faraway oasis. The options are limitless when you remember to relieve yourself of mental inhibitions and simply fly.
Tattoos are scary, but I am going to embrace my fear. I cannot wait to see the red and gold phoenix dancing on my back. I cannot wait until I can leave the ground.
“If i see this “winged” thing one more time…!” I inwardly shouted at my computer screen.
It would do no good, i realise that. But it just felt better.
Of course it would have been better if i was *actually* shouting, but that wasn’t important.
I didn’t even bother finishing my sentence, i mean, it was in my head right?
No one would hear it but me.
I’m a bit paranoid like that, sometimes i’m sure that someone can read my mind. What would they think of it- my mind i mean- if they really *could* read it?
All the blood, that is.
I am winged.
As in I am happy.
It’s not really a big deal, i mean, i everyone is happy at least one time in their life…
Right?
It’s a little more complicated for me.
A little more complicated indeed…
Wings sprouted from my back. The most painful and excruciating of all pain that i have ever witness as they teared through the skin and flesh. Fleshy ripping sound filled my ears on par with my heart beat which was now deafening me. My skin was ripping. My sweat was cold. My screams were loud, scratching up my throat.
Here is your grim reaper.
puts the red lipstick on too heavy, kisses off the excess into her inner wrist
lana del rey on the stereo & a boho beauty in front of me smoking her menthols
cross-legged on the wooden floorboards in the frontroom, no furniture,
she says ‘don’t tell me you love me until after’
sitting flipping half-naked through vintage victorian anatomical art, she says, ‘this will be my next tattoo’
points to a long-stemmed perennial in an old botanists’ catalouge
her jazz musician boyfriend comes in, she laughs, her bracelets chiming, metal-on-metal, pulls him down by the forearm & crawls onto his lap
i don’t love her at all
(nothing left to do but lay down & i do, spine & the floor, missing my own musician like he was dead, daydream he’s playing a gig instead)
the winged shoes sprinted the other way. Apollo followed soon after. Apollo couldn’t catch up. his sandals had outrun him. he continued to chase them throughout the city going through alleyways and buildings. chariots were lined up, and the sandals ran in and out of them diagonally.
Birds are winged. Duh. Obviously. Wings are white. Feathery. I was just playing a game in which I had to find items and one of them was a feather. Boring game. Man my typing is slow. Speaking of which I’ve always been slow most of my life.
Winged creatures are beautiful things. Birds, bats, even flying squirrels! To be able to fly is something humans can only dream about without machinery.
I never thought about flying I’ve never had a reson to. I’m content, not happy, I’m okay, not horrible. My life is jsut an insignnificant piece and I’m okay.
How i wish that i was winged
just like in the songs i singed
all the joy that it would bring
to everyone below
eyes upward, they would know
i am far happier here
in the lonely clouds
than i ever was with them
Crushed into the ground
I’ve never been winged, but I would like to be. I think about flying a lot and how we were never meant to do it. I know. Fucking deep. Seriously though. You know you wish you could fly. C’mon. Real talk.
i think it’s called writer’s block
where you can’t say or think or imagine a word
a wingless flight
a soundless word
winged was the word I was supposed to write about.
The creature was maned, but winged. Fanged but tusked. Sharp and crude and snarling all at once. But it bowed its head to me, and my mistress, and my two compatriots, its snout scraping the dirt because it dipped so low. It bowed to all of us. As if we were kings and queens.
My mistress stepped to the creature slowly. She clicked her tongue. She straightened her waistcoat.
He didn’t like this new feature about himself. It was kind of sad. Those wings that he had wished for ever since he was a little boy, was now what he hated the most about himself. “I’m so sorry” he whispered to the wind. Oh what he had done to get those black, feathers. He was so sorry for everything. For murdering all of those innocent people, and for killing his own sister. Just for those wings.
The girl stood close to the window, he wings fluttering in the wind. She look upon the tree outside and smiled a wicked smile. She wanted him. She wanted that tree. For being a light creature, she was awfully wicked. The brunette whispered something under her breath and jumped out of her glass cage.
i had winged windows and winged doors, winged men and winged chubby children that flew about my ceiling for their sole amusement. the winged doors laughed at the children’s plump attempts to avoid the ceiling lamps and the winged doors spent their days fanning sweet morning breezes into my four walls so the winged children would tumble about the air like dandelion seeds.
the winged men occasionally brought hookers.
the white winged dove is such an overused concept. it makes me think of fleetwood mac and sappy poems. if i were winged i would make magic happen. i wouldn’t talk about doves or other uninteresting birds.
the winged serpent flew through the air, looking for that special damsle in distress he could call his own…then burn to a crisp. That is all they are really good for. A quick dragon romp and then the sweet smell of dev
There used to be a small, winged thing in my chest, and now it is gone. I feel heavy and grey and prone to destruction. A ball of fire and iron rests in the centre of my stone cold chest. Don’t you get it? You turned me frigid. You turn my anger in on me so that everyday is filled with fury at my own heavy mind.
I wish that I were winged at times… To have the ability to fly, carefree and swiftly… Come to think of it I am often winged… My thought flying swiftly and carefree.
I wanted wings. I had wanted them for a long, long time.
I’ve always had this fantasy of them, whether they were fleshy, or sharp, or whatever they might be. Would they be colored like my skin, or pale and feathered? Would they dangle lifelessly behind my back, or unfold as dark leathery mass like the wings of bats? Were they like the ones of angels, white, fluttery and feathered? Would they bleed like the other organs or become a mere additional tool for survival?
The clock chimed and I finally emerged from my cocoon. Catching a glimpse from the mirror, I had my answer.
What I would do if I were a little winged tike again, they have imaginations and thoughts that us more matured creatures don’t see such importance to have. A winged creature so brave and plush that only I could wish upon being one of these creatures before they fall without wings and left incapable to get back up. How I dream of such miracles.
With wings, I was all powerful. I could stop the pain my charges would feel. I could wrap my wings around their bodies and protect them from the agony that my siblings, my own brothers and sisters, wanted to cause these poor, righteous humans. No, they weren’t perfect, but that was what made them special.
A winged animal is like a human with two eyes, perfectly rich and capable of doing nearly anything. Without these winged animals what would we see flying through the air and wind on those beautiful clear summer days and breezy fall nights. These birds have lives and lives without wings well that’s unheard of.
The rush of the wind stings my wet eyes freezing my tears. Oppressing clouds loom above and the sun is lost for good. Oh that happiness is left in the world? This pain in my heart cuts me down to size. I am despairing, hopeless, and abandoned. If only I would become a winged creature and fly away from life itself. I would soar in the gray clouds over the gray terrain in search for a long gone sunshine. I know not if the sun can be found, but it is better than sitting here below. Oh if I was a winged creature, I would look for an escape.
The creature growled in annoyance, continuing to claw at its back. These pesky things were getting bothersome and itchy! Why wouldn’t it stop? Some of the strange items had been shed already, lying abandoned on the floor and fluttering about every time it moved, but most of it still stayed on protruding limbs.
To see the splendor radiating from above. To see her lips moving in a most beautiful song. To set me free and let me be, that is the true blessing from the winged angel.
winged people
sweeping up clouds
winged unknown
bids and people
and clouds
and sweeping wings
winged angels
fluttering and wishing
and hoping for something
There were winged horses flying out of dense clouds, tinged with pink, as if the gods had been having an almighty paint fight. There was a glorious malevolence in their approach, as if destiny was made physical by their wing beats.
Winged animals don’t have much choice in their method of transport… they fly! They can fly east, west, north south, high, low. To a nearby tree or a faraway oasis. The options are limitless when you remember to relieve yourself of mental inhibitions and simply fly.
o! o’er the
clouds i follow
the path of your
destruction,
the crashing
of broken music and
the screams
of damned souls:
a choir to your
benevolence.
Tattoos are scary, but I am going to embrace my fear. I cannot wait to see the red and gold phoenix dancing on my back. I cannot wait until I can leave the ground.
“If i see this “winged” thing one more time…!” I inwardly shouted at my computer screen.
It would do no good, i realise that. But it just felt better.
Of course it would have been better if i was *actually* shouting, but that wasn’t important.
I didn’t even bother finishing my sentence, i mean, it was in my head right?
No one would hear it but me.
I’m a bit paranoid like that, sometimes i’m sure that someone can read my mind. What would they think of it- my mind i mean- if they really *could* read it?
All the blood, that is.
I am winged.
As in I am happy.
It’s not really a big deal, i mean, i everyone is happy at least one time in their life…
Right?
It’s a little more complicated for me.
A little more complicated indeed…
Wings sprouted from my back. The most painful and excruciating of all pain that i have ever witness as they teared through the skin and flesh. Fleshy ripping sound filled my ears on par with my heart beat which was now deafening me. My skin was ripping. My sweat was cold. My screams were loud, scratching up my throat.
Here is your grim reaper.
puts the red lipstick on too heavy, kisses off the excess into her inner wrist
lana del rey on the stereo & a boho beauty in front of me smoking her menthols
cross-legged on the wooden floorboards in the frontroom, no furniture,
she says ‘don’t tell me you love me until after’
sitting flipping half-naked through vintage victorian anatomical art, she says, ‘this will be my next tattoo’
points to a long-stemmed perennial in an old botanists’ catalouge
her jazz musician boyfriend comes in, she laughs, her bracelets chiming, metal-on-metal, pulls him down by the forearm & crawls onto his lap
i don’t love her at all
(nothing left to do but lay down & i do, spine & the floor, missing my own musician like he was dead, daydream he’s playing a gig instead)
the winged shoes sprinted the other way. Apollo followed soon after. Apollo couldn’t catch up. his sandals had outrun him. he continued to chase them throughout the city going through alleyways and buildings. chariots were lined up, and the sandals ran in and out of them diagonally.
Birds are winged. Duh. Obviously. Wings are white. Feathery. I was just playing a game in which I had to find items and one of them was a feather. Boring game. Man my typing is slow. Speaking of which I’ve always been slow most of my life.
Winged creatures are beautiful things. Birds, bats, even flying squirrels! To be able to fly is something humans can only dream about without machinery.
I never thought about flying I’ve never had a reson to. I’m content, not happy, I’m okay, not horrible. My life is jsut an insignnificant piece and I’m okay.
in the heavens she flew
but on earth she feel
not an angel
but just another
another girl
and nothing more
How i wish that i was winged
just like in the songs i singed
all the joy that it would bring
to everyone below
eyes upward, they would know
i am far happier here
in the lonely clouds
than i ever was with them
Crushed into the ground
insects, creatures, delicate, beautiful , airy, tiny, angelic, dragons, historic,
they built temples in your name
but i wrote the words to every hymn
& every word the sheep still sing
while all their temples lie in ruin
our god is jealous as he is unkind
and we, his children, inherit every sin
I’ve never been winged, but I would like to be. I think about flying a lot and how we were never meant to do it. I know. Fucking deep. Seriously though. You know you wish you could fly. C’mon. Real talk.
i think it’s called writer’s block
where you can’t say or think or imagine a word
a wingless flight
a soundless word
winged was the word I was supposed to write about.
The creature was maned, but winged. Fanged but tusked. Sharp and crude and snarling all at once. But it bowed its head to me, and my mistress, and my two compatriots, its snout scraping the dirt because it dipped so low. It bowed to all of us. As if we were kings and queens.
My mistress stepped to the creature slowly. She clicked her tongue. She straightened her waistcoat.
“Pretty,” she mumbled.
He didn’t like this new feature about himself. It was kind of sad. Those wings that he had wished for ever since he was a little boy, was now what he hated the most about himself. “I’m so sorry” he whispered to the wind. Oh what he had done to get those black, feathers. He was so sorry for everything. For murdering all of those innocent people, and for killing his own sister. Just for those wings.
The girl stood close to the window, he wings fluttering in the wind. She look upon the tree outside and smiled a wicked smile. She wanted him. She wanted that tree. For being a light creature, she was awfully wicked. The brunette whispered something under her breath and jumped out of her glass cage.
i had winged windows and winged doors, winged men and winged chubby children that flew about my ceiling for their sole amusement. the winged doors laughed at the children’s plump attempts to avoid the ceiling lamps and the winged doors spent their days fanning sweet morning breezes into my four walls so the winged children would tumble about the air like dandelion seeds.
the winged men occasionally brought hookers.
the white winged dove is such an overused concept. it makes me think of fleetwood mac and sappy poems. if i were winged i would make magic happen. i wouldn’t talk about doves or other uninteresting birds.
the winged serpent flew through the air, looking for that special damsle in distress he could call his own…then burn to a crisp. That is all they are really good for. A quick dragon romp and then the sweet smell of dev
The bird flies through the sky, one of the only winged animals in the world…
There used to be a small, winged thing in my chest, and now it is gone. I feel heavy and grey and prone to destruction. A ball of fire and iron rests in the centre of my stone cold chest. Don’t you get it? You turned me frigid. You turn my anger in on me so that everyday is filled with fury at my own heavy mind.
I wish that I were winged at times… To have the ability to fly, carefree and swiftly… Come to think of it I am often winged… My thought flying swiftly and carefree.
I wanted wings. I had wanted them for a long, long time.
I’ve always had this fantasy of them, whether they were fleshy, or sharp, or whatever they might be. Would they be colored like my skin, or pale and feathered? Would they dangle lifelessly behind my back, or unfold as dark leathery mass like the wings of bats? Were they like the ones of angels, white, fluttery and feathered? Would they bleed like the other organs or become a mere additional tool for survival?
The clock chimed and I finally emerged from my cocoon. Catching a glimpse from the mirror, I had my answer.
It winged, it flew.
It flowed, it blew.
And gone it was forever.
winged babies diyng of herpes
salty hair in my mother´s nose
drink yourself and burp
let the light rot
There they were in the sleepy bed,
a groggy head
woke up and said,
“What was that?”
and flew away.
Winged rainbow dash flys around, she be’s bold.
YA WANNA KNOW HOW SHE ACTS GO WATCH MY FROGGIN LITTLE PONY. ITS ON NETFLIX. GO.
What I would do if I were a little winged tike again, they have imaginations and thoughts that us more matured creatures don’t see such importance to have. A winged creature so brave and plush that only I could wish upon being one of these creatures before they fall without wings and left incapable to get back up. How I dream of such miracles.
With wings, I was all powerful. I could stop the pain my charges would feel. I could wrap my wings around their bodies and protect them from the agony that my siblings, my own brothers and sisters, wanted to cause these poor, righteous humans. No, they weren’t perfect, but that was what made them special.
A winged animal is like a human with two eyes, perfectly rich and capable of doing nearly anything. Without these winged animals what would we see flying through the air and wind on those beautiful clear summer days and breezy fall nights. These birds have lives and lives without wings well that’s unheard of.
HOW I WISH I WERE EVERY DAY SO I COULD FLY OVER ALL THE TRAFFIC AND DUMB PEOPLE!
The rush of the wind stings my wet eyes freezing my tears. Oppressing clouds loom above and the sun is lost for good. Oh that happiness is left in the world? This pain in my heart cuts me down to size. I am despairing, hopeless, and abandoned. If only I would become a winged creature and fly away from life itself. I would soar in the gray clouds over the gray terrain in search for a long gone sunshine. I know not if the sun can be found, but it is better than sitting here below. Oh if I was a winged creature, I would look for an escape.
The creature growled in annoyance, continuing to claw at its back. These pesky things were getting bothersome and itchy! Why wouldn’t it stop? Some of the strange items had been shed already, lying abandoned on the floor and fluttering about every time it moved, but most of it still stayed on protruding limbs.
To see the splendor radiating from above. To see her lips moving in a most beautiful song. To set me free and let me be, that is the true blessing from the winged angel.
winged people
sweeping up clouds
winged unknown
bids and people
and clouds
and sweeping wings
winged angels
fluttering and wishing
and hoping for something
There were winged horses flying out of dense clouds, tinged with pink, as if the gods had been having an almighty paint fight. There was a glorious malevolence in their approach, as if destiny was made physical by their wing beats.