Image Book

• Bricks: Dusty, old, smooth where fingers have brushed by, the birthing place of innovative life, a crack where mother earth pushes through in the form of a vine, history condensed in a fading and forgotten solid mass, the color of his eyes, just as old just as faded, just as forgotten
• Leaves: Sitting on top of the laurel wreath on some mighty God's or Goddesses' head, covering up impurity, alive above my head dead beneath my feet, Mother Earth's skin
• Books: Bound in skin, weathered, faded, yellow, a journey, my real life, fireplaces and cat's fur, spines creaking and cracking, black tattoos on ivory skin
• Thorns: Deceit hidden underneath blushing beauty, The sins of roses, love, hate, despair, The mistress's dagger
• Dagger: Attached to the hip, sensual curve of the blade meets the between the ribs of a lover and strikes the heart, deathly beautiful, elegance
• Heart: (does not look like this <3) bloody and disgusting but a symbol for something much more complex, the key to the soul but the lock to the mind
• Mind (Brain): The creator of everything imagined, land of fairytales, but also a dark land of facts and realization, the truth can hurt
• Night: The dark corners of my soul, where I can go to be alone, yellow eyes in the darkness, darkening and ripening colors, velvet blues and black, raven's wings
• Ravens: An "unkindness of ravens," my deliverer, bringer of bad news, glossy black feathers that fall from the sky to land in my hands and reflect my fading façade
• Face: Wall where the windows to the soul lies, a brick wall or a mirror, ever changing like the sea, the most perfect work of art on any human being
• Mirror: A portal to any fairytale place, doesn't always reflect the truth, a face cracked down the middle, the only object I can talk to and not be seen as insane, the place of epiphanies   
• Tower: Where the dragon lives in a girl's body, containing not gold but long tresses, look into the very tippy top window and you probably won't see me but you will see my prince lazing on the window sill to dream of faraway lands where he will not find me.
• Marble: The skin of forgotten heroes, the embryo of art, a riddle that may not need to always be solved but to be found, makes up the walls of my heart, the composition of my bones
• Bones: The rafters of our bodies, hidden beneath a fleshy outer layer of skin and muscle, proves that we are all the same on the inside, cracks and niches reflect a history written in are bodies only to be read when we are dead and gone, exquisite ivory, steal that instead
• Ivory: the color of my skin, the essence of beauty that is pale, better and more beautiful than diamonds but forbidden, belonging to the elephants of ancient lore, respected and saluted once, hunted now
• Nails: The degraded "claws" of humans, extended the hand until it becomes beautifully slender and enticing, belonging to a witch or seductress, ever beckoning
• Apples: The stereotypical symbol for sin, impurity and purity, temptation and love, red like a blood heart pulled, still beating, from a fallen dainty chest, no need to sign a contract in blood, the world's most delicious weapon (metaphorically, of course)
• Hair: The natural hat, an intricate border for the face, so the it's the hands that hold the face that is the wall that contains the windows to the soul (impossible to relinquish to a lover, or three), a cascading waterfall that does not really flow as it does fall to hang lifeless on the bony shoulders of Beauty.
• Pen: The real window to the soul, the best musical instrument, an artistic dagger, to etch words into the skin so that they stand against the ivory as a pitch black tattoo, my weapon of endless possibilities, my key out of this world and just because you have one too doesn't mean you can follow me
• Corset: Breaking, creaking, cracking, and deforming the bones in order to make an hourglass that is already out of sand, pulling laces until blood runs between the fingers to stain the polished wooden floor
• Goggles: Can only see fog (not through it) Give me a pair and I'll tell you your future, has the magical ability of turning men into bugs, add some golden gears and they'll fit perfectly in a steam punk world full of Victorian bad asses.
• Wood: The skin of nymphs, the teeth of the wood, covering our heads and supporting our bodies, the trodden markings of a tree's short lifespan, reflected in my eyes at times of intense pleasure and pain
• Top Hat: the definition of a gentlemen, has the uncanny ability to make a man look taller and thus more fulfilled? Usually accompanied by a monocle and a pocket watch, to control the time, because of course that is within our abilities
• Clock: Often described as mad when accompanied by a delightful winged friend that screams perfectly on cue at every hour of every day, can be contagious, the madness that is...crooked in respect to the natural order of things, ticking away our life, mocking mortality
• Wings: overrated and yet an eternal obsession, not only apart of those that are "good" but those that are evil adorn them as well.
• Feet: The ink on a map, imprints on the world always in a very cliché way, a broken oar to man the vessel named life
• Make-up: a beautiful mask to hide an innocent individual, the murderer of natural beauty, but the savior of those termed "ugly," never enough to cover the flaws, especially not those that are internal, bars that the victim willingly locks themselves behind
• Opium: Apparently the essence of creative genius, The devil's way of locking artists up to do his bidding, sinking into an unfathomable depth, a way to truly become apart of your art, but at what price to you mind? I'm sorry Coleridge.
• Ashes: The remains of our bodily prisons when are soul is set afire, where the phoenix lies dead, and then rises more alive than I'll ever know, maybe if I could write with it instead, smearing its essence on the paper, maybe then my words will look more true to me
• Time: When the last grain of sand falls and the clock strikes twelve…