Good Days Don't Come Often He turned around and the rumpled bed sheets caught his eye. His sheets had not been changed in weeks, nor had he. Madness seeped through the pores of his being turning him into a raging beast. In a fit of desperation he tore the sheets from the pure white mattress sending waves of fabric into the air floating, soaring, flying, only to swoop down like a hawk after prey to devour him; as they snaked their way around his body they tried to mold themselves to his skin, his bone, his soul; suffocating him slowly. Arms began to flail, and he screamGood Days Don't Come Often
Silently...Slowly they move in, Like Beasts to a curious piece of flesh. Yet, this scrap of flesh gets up, Silently.Silently...
Some attempt to help, Yet it resists, sodden with sadness To a degree not tangible by you or I
It kills him, The eyes upon him peeling away at his skin. Inside, butterflies begin to multiply instead of
Die.
His limits become clear As he erupts though the crowd, Eyes, producing a rain of emotion from the Inside.
You might wonder, Why the desperate, desolate thing Doesn't call out for Help? &
The Art of the NameI see it as a sheet of clear lavender glass Designed to be strong and beautiful Permanent But also capable of shatteringThe Art of the Name
Reforming into something completely Different Solid enough to endure the expanses of emotion Yet still able to melt down and be manipulated
Sharp Smooth It can be shaped by anyone But few can turn it into something
2 things
Desperate
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There is poetry in despair, and we sang with unrivaled beauty; bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence, of blue and grey.
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"Princes wait there in the world in the world, it's true.
Princes yes, but wolves and humans too."-Into the Woods
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There is poetry in despair, and we sang with unrivaled beauty; bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence, of blue and grey.
haha, HI ZACK! :]
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storybook endings, fairytales coming true.
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