Brandy Danielle Nicholson

The elegant bliss, of a softened kiss has harshened the blow, of an idealistic glow. And an intense benevolence, has lessened the chance of a frightening tyrannical rule. Some heightened risk, has plummeted through the warranted rate of solitude and breaking bands of extravagant lands are rimming the skies of hopeful demands. A gracious influx of garnering peace will circumvent extremities of crucified, bare boned lies resting in, facetious casualties. Where the truth in the game, is circumstantial of pain resounding in, the relative gain.

Gravitationally drawn colors wind through time emanating torrential doom and simultaneous spice of a frost seasoned evening of depth through glass ceilings built with imaginary barriers of fear and groping angry niggered lies weave their demise falling quickly to never escape the lonely black holed eyes piercing infinite spacetime.

Ramadawned on a blue skied yellow tie in the middle of the knight of shining armor coated with stainless stealing kisses from a whoreable drunken bitch.

Built on a crumbling stubble of rocks everyone knew falling for you was bound like the wrists of a kinky sex bitten kitten gagged and choked to forget being alone.

Remember saving our cigarette cellophanes from each state of pain buried geography coated in sugar plums and little beignets of Wayne all the way through Texas devouring western sunsets and tossing dirty guns and doing pulverulent white lines off glass table tops to the land of the stars that was not so bright, and driving fancy cars through Malibu along coastal tides embracing speedy highs smelling sweet salty brine and staring at the Hollywood sign through our hotel window shattered with plans of forever? The snowy road broke our internet codes on Route 66 where we spent the night with Marilyn, then caffeine driven 24 hours straight through I-10 where round the bin eternity was waiting to halt our plans and we took our last bump through Memphis before the wide eyed end of our foolish time, dehydrating our youth and sweating out the past that we hoped would last for the future and the sake of the fucking almighty hand that ripped apart our souls because t...

A poem about a period of time in my past. Click on the link below to hear it spoken. Remniscent

I miss writing and I miss the silence. I miss the tears of a broken violence. I miss the grievance of a partner's reply. I miss the solitude of focused compliance. I miss the surprise and I miss the days when my thoughts were heavy on each page. I miss the darkness and I miss the balance of my broken heart graced with madness. I miss to suffice. I miss the lone long quiver of a solid profound line. I miss the absorption of the tune of the world. I miss twas and henceforth the blow and I miss what it feels like to grow... To grow through words To grow through thoughts To grow through the experiences Of feeling lonely and lost. I'm an addict unsure of a sober well being. I'm a narcissist feigning for a hollow fix drowning in egotism lacking the meaning of a solemn bliss. But more than anything, you are what I miss. Above it all, I long for the intoxication of your kiss.

"Deleted?" She softly spoke to herself in confusion as she squinted her eyes. She expected something like this to happen, but hoped for more. She certainly hadn't expected to be cut off and so blatantly ignored. It had been four days since they spoke when she noticed he deleted his Facebook. The last day she saw him was like every other day with him. She awoke in his bed and promptly went to the bathroom to check her reflection. With every man, she thought the same thing, the prettier you look the better of a chance you have with him. Though this was never the case, she convinced herself that it was logical. She was gullible, especially to herself. Her hair was a bit messy, but she smiled and felt confident -she thought it made her look sexy. She opened his soft navy blue plush robe that she had slept in, and underneath she saw the woman she had become, 24 and lonely, willing to give up her emotional stability for the comfort of a man's bed. She t...

To me, this symbolizes the harmony of a perfect relationship. It's an effortless give and take of each other. A beautiful connection. This probably comes closer to describing relationship perfection than I ever could.

Do you remember back then? The days when hair and dress were priority and care was something we thought hovered over whether or not we saw each other? Do you remember the days when the end of the world was present in our lack of clothing? The days when your day could be ruined with one word or look? Do you remember when my hair made me cry? The days when boys were the reason we went anywhere or did anything? Has that changed? Do you remember feeling excitement from riding around with the windows down and the radio up in our very first junky cars? Or riding into the night with the older boys? And do you remember when that started to not be enough? Do you remember the days when our biggest worry was getting caught with a rated R movie, or authority finding out we got kicked out of Opry Mills. I felt obligated to be ashamed of those times, but the adrenaline masked it all and I was proud instead. Do you remember getting that feeling of rebellion and the simultaneous rush, and the...

Drifting and sinking into a ship of delicious objectivity, I can't contain the refrain of dripping sadness. Brazing the graze of decisions and fate to solder the happiness with the pain. Tripping through molecules of my mind, the beat repeats, and I crave sleep. Dying to be surrounded by an ocean of love, living to be surrounded by lies. Fake. Great. I'm lathered in gold and the night is bronze, sterling. They stare so deep into what I am, what seems grand, is all a sham. Now the night is blue, and I'm coated with hate. Regret. I can't seem to shake the grandeur of what you think I am, until I break. Upon a crooked pedestal rests the foot of control pushing forward to madness. I can't help but be inspired by the idea of an untrue lover's lover. She is all I thought I was, and everything I hoped to be, before I was left in uncertainty. My extremities excrete pheromones of simplicity. My insides bleed for forgiveness amongst an insane...

My heart's an intricately cracked slab of concrete delegated to the patio of your great grandmothers hundred and fifty year old house left to fall apart the day she died in the silence of her once elegant, country, Georgia home. Every chip in the concrete is symbolic of a lover that has taken a chunk of me with them. Some larger than others, respectively to the time and love I invested, hopeful it would be enough. But, it's never been enough. My eyes once a prized possession, shiny, bright, and full of youthful desire, are now worn scratched and dulled like an old knife, now neglected and pushed far to the back of that junk drawer you never open, but to search for something that was most likely found in a much more obvious place. Dark, gloomy, and lonely, my eyes rest far beyond your need for them. My breast's are beaten, used, lathered in age, longing for innocent vigor and care, like the set of double doors falling from the depreciated shed in your backyard. Aband...

A place above the colors, floating tall, there's an existence I've been told of where women never die. Their dreams last forever and life is sweet. The future bends and bows to  women at their feet. Nothing is hard, unless hard means easy, and if you're ever looking, look here and find me.