Someone's crying like somebody's dead
Oh yes, the old year's been breathed out in a darkened evening
In a lightless twilight nothing room, There is a place I cannot go; it exists beneath my feet, living and breathing like today's twisting sunrise. It calls my name - I hear it, and in dreams I want it, but even my mind that loses itself in the sliding whisper of someplace else won't take me there. And on the train and back again, there is no way - for all the same, underneath every street it intersects, taking me closer in space and further in time - and the day disappears again.
Today, we don't exist. It doesn't mean a damn thing, but it'll be alright in the end, when we just close our eyes and wake up tomorrow - five years - a lifetime later.
And I say the names again and again, but no one comes.
They've all left, fled this slippery landscape full of dust and ashes and regret a long, long time ago. There will be no turning back in times past. We can't.
Today, the sun dies again. So what if there's no tomorrow? There's no hoping - except that one of these tomorrows will be the one with him in it, bringing him back from the dead, resurrecting the memories and sacrificing them to the blood and knives of Lola Strife.
And if absinthe makes the heart grow fonder - of forgetting - this kitten is a real live heroin, come to save that soul again.
New year brings old luck; may it be better for you than it has ever been so far. Their souls are sitting on your shoulder, if the air feels heavy tonight.
posted by MissSolitaire, 15:49 | link | comments (3)
And I say to the little ghost wrapped around my fingers
Is it time?
Is it time?
One day maybe trippin' down the concrete paths to lands unknown, maybe finding another place beneath the sunlight where the scraps of your serenity cannot go. The sea-breeze wanders in this way, bringing with it stings of memory - perhaps you do not want to recall how those bright eyes, how they watched you, wanting and knowing.
So please stop crawling back, on your hands on your knees and tearing to shreds the pride you suffered to keep, even as you told secrets to the dusty floor.
Kisses on a cold shoulder, and heaven fears for seven years - there can be no turning back now. I hear the whispers, sometimes calling out my name - such terrible deeds in the night no one sees! always urging me to go deeper, further, darker, farther, until it's too late to try and push in the heartslices that we spilled on our maddening way.
Excuse me, I've got to go. Yes. Take care, I'll talk to you later. Good-bye. Is this how you hang up the phone? Is this how the electronic eyes of your undermind knives scratch gently at your weary bones?
In the Graveyard, tonight, someone's crying.
And now I've got to go. Not wine, nor whiskey, nor the wide-eyed wandering soul that slipped into my afternoon nap will stop me now. The rain will let up sometime, even if it seems to go on forever. And I remember and know better, more familiar, the things in my head behind my eyelid and inside my soul, a different place than the one you see - sitting inside your extant dream, and maybe a song for the beloved dead.
There's always time.
Is it time?
Is it time?
One day maybe trippin' down the concrete paths to lands unknown, maybe finding another place beneath the sunlight where the scraps of your serenity cannot go. The sea-breeze wanders in this way, bringing with it stings of memory - perhaps you do not want to recall how those bright eyes, how they watched you, wanting and knowing.
So please stop crawling back, on your hands on your knees and tearing to shreds the pride you suffered to keep, even as you told secrets to the dusty floor.
Kisses on a cold shoulder, and heaven fears for seven years - there can be no turning back now. I hear the whispers, sometimes calling out my name - such terrible deeds in the night no one sees! always urging me to go deeper, further, darker, farther, until it's too late to try and push in the heartslices that we spilled on our maddening way.
Excuse me, I've got to go. Yes. Take care, I'll talk to you later. Good-bye. Is this how you hang up the phone? Is this how the electronic eyes of your undermind knives scratch gently at your weary bones?
In the Graveyard, tonight, someone's crying.
And now I've got to go. Not wine, nor whiskey, nor the wide-eyed wandering soul that slipped into my afternoon nap will stop me now. The rain will let up sometime, even if it seems to go on forever. And I remember and know better, more familiar, the things in my head behind my eyelid and inside my soul, a different place than the one you see - sitting inside your extant dream, and maybe a song for the beloved dead.
There's always time.
posted by MissSolitaire, 12:20 | link | comments (1)
She'd wonder what they all had, because it was only a few years between where they were and where they came to be. Wasn't only those few years ago that she was the prettiest thing they ever did see? And now she couldn't ever hope to win the passing respect of an errant seagull.
He told her gently, as old friends do, that they really were aging - but only a little.
Whose tears mingled freely with the breaking waves on the stormy shore? What did it ever matter?
She would scream - with anger sometimes, but mostly out of fear and frightened hopelessness. Then he'd turn his head to carelessly look her over, just once, to remind himself that it was just desperation in the uneasy hearts that brought them this far. Only it's the saddest for her, see - because she gave up the depths that knew no sunlight to be brought into his, and for all she had forsaken that's the one place she'd ever belong.
She remembers the day when things were going her way - only memories remain of the way she used to be.
How fragile and foolish it was to set afloat on hope in an empty ocean!
Funny how dreams turn out, isn't it?
posted by MissSolitaire, 05:06 | link | comments (4)
There's nothing
in between the nights and the nightmares
It's all over now.
posted by MissSolitaire, 22:35 | link | comments (2)
Something's written in the sky.
By the stars, the letters dimly shine - faint of heart and by eye, hard to distinguish through the wispy clouds that half-heartedly try to veil the killer crescent sickle hung high up in the winter night. The days of wine and roses and blood-colored leaves that dripped from the magic capillarity of the twining branches are over
over
over and over again.
And while the earth slumbers on in quiet unrest underneath the frigid and bitter affections of this alien landscape - it is beautiful and it is pleasing, to see that the exposed iron framework of this place has all the austere asceticism of an viciously industrial-age vicar.
But while it lasts
Let the unpainted sky kiss the pulsing hiding soul that threatens to stop
over and over again.
posted by MissSolitaire, 11:42 | link | comments (5)
posted by MissSolitaire, 01:17 | link | comments (7)
Going back to the places where it never began, I can feel where you walked and stood, underneath the eternally aching sky.
And all the words have dripped away and nothing's left to be said -
- Jack Blood and Jill Bone, citizens of this kingdom of delusion. I'll leave while I'm still just another speck of ash from an unknown funeral. It's too late and time has fallen past our three-way street to lie shuddering in some gutter, with only poor memory and prosperous regret to keep it company. If I don't know because I've never been here before, I'll never know; them who take my hand won't lead me here again because I refuse to go.
Fall - the death of something glorious, while the naked trees reach up to heaven to be redeemed, it is also the end of a thing that should've never mattered much and without chances, it dies on the withered field
without much of a struggle.
There is a place where my heart cannot go, floating in the quiet past the wild blue yonder.
posted by MissSolitaire, 13:52 | link | comments (3)
