Patty Dickson Pieczka, From “Autumn”, Beyond The Moon’s White Claw 

heavy-handed with metaphor (as all lovers are) & filled to the brim with music

When you touched me & cut me deep with your stare. My eyes bled merging into my lips. The flower of desparation bloomed and i called it LOVE.

-Anneshwa ✨

My art is for myself first, it's a vortex of my complex emotions. I channel my inner thoughts and feelings into it. I try not to let them dominate or paralyze me, instead use them to create something meaningful. So when you see a quote or picture by me, know that it comes from a very vulnerable place but when it goes out it makes me stronger. My art is for you and for all, but first, it's for me.

- Anneshwa

Simone de Beauvoir ― The Woman Destroyed

I hope you see my soul,

before you feel my touch.

I hope you seek,

with curious eyes.

We can go on a quest together,

to dig deeper into each other's souls.

The deeper i dig, the more i find about the hidden hamlets

in our soul fields.

I hope our souls are each other's last dream.

-Anneshwa 🌻

P.S i love this picture by @marinalaurel 💛

A dream that burned so bright,

it lit up the corners of the gloomiest alleys.

A dream as bright as the first light,

and as genial as a warm hug.

A gentle touch,

a glacé remembrance

of the sunny woods.

- Anneshwa ✨

I felt something unexplainable in my chest and there were flowers growing inside my veins. My heart stopped and that moment felt like eons. Eons full of ecstasy.

-anneshwa

I write because I am wretched, because I must make moan to someone or something. I write because I shall soon be dead. These lines will be the cold remains of my soul and thoughts and love, as my body will be the corpse of my warm flesh and blood. I write to declare my faith, to obtain pardon of my sins, to weep, because my tears strangle me and will put an end to me.

Juliette Drouet, from a letter to Victor Hugo, written on 1834

[ID: text seen as; ‘(JULY IS OVER AND THERE’S VERY LITTLE TRACE)’

a poem by Frank O’Hara]

The wind overwhelms me, the dusk overwhelms me, the cars, the lights, the crowd, the emptiness, the dark, the light, everything overwhelms me. The dews on the veins, the mourning birds, the talking grains and the longing trains. Everything aches, everything burns, everything overwhelms. The existence, and the disappearance.

-Ann 🌻