A funeral, yes, but there was no casket.
A body hung from the ceiling by her fatal noose
And, upon closer inspection, I realized the body was mine,
Though I was not myself.
I was emaciated, bruised, and the look on my face was not a peaceful one
Could that of a suicide ever be?
No, there was not a coffin. I merely hung from the church rafters
As people dressed in black filed in to see me staring;
They had not shut my eyes.
I could see everyone.
Some were crying, though I know not why,
They had known of my existence, but not who I was.
My siblings entered in a line,
Wearing somber looks they had been told to ke
The Fool on the Hill by XxTheGirlWhoLivedxX, literature
Literature
The Fool on the Hill
Somewhere
Inside that head
There is ticking, slowly, turning
See the gears spin wildly
As people scoff
Because the steady clicks were a bit too loud.
The fool on the hill watches the earth turn as peers scorn him from below,
But still, he smiles at the sunset while others become
Preoccupied with their mundane lives
And he lies, just lies
To the melody of ocean breezes only he can pick out the tune.
Most would plead stupidity;
He can not
Will not
Comprehend, they say, the wonders of the universe.
Yet he bothers to observe them.
They say such a fool will never be anything more: foolish,
But I see the gears
Ticking
Spi
Sing sweetly, love,
Your song that I know with all senses
As I taste the euphony
And run my fingers over pages
Of time signatures and staccato notes.
You are the song I play
Endlessly
Until my fingers grow weary on ivory keys
Or twanging copper strings
And when I shut my eyes to sleep
You ring against my eardrums, whispering
Flowing euphemisms into the twilight air
From underneath the sheets.
Later, still, into the night
Your colors run over shut, drowsy eyes
The white glimmer of a smile
Or perpetually changing chestnut irises.
Still, your song tastes of vanilla
And, for those who listened long enough, candy floss an
Her eyes are fire and the wind's Her hair
And Her presence demands such astounded stares
And Her smile shakes kingdoms, Her laugh invokes rapture
And She's what everybody's after.
The day She rose, the night did fall
And in Her hellgirl's war cry call
The flawless, those who felt as free,
But Her call brought back nobody.
Some days
I just
Run out
Of words
And I taste the stars
Or my tears
Or my fears
And I grapple onto each floating bit of emotion in my head
But nothing is right.
No, nothing tonight.
I've used up my words
And I've tried to forge more
Out of lost Scrabble pieces
And alphabet soup
And children's building blocks.
I live
And I know,
But I cannot write
So I cannot feel.
This is not my heart
That I wear on my sleeve,
Pin on my lapel,
And carry in the pockets of my jeans.
It's not mine, though I don't know whose.
Whoever it is, he has mine, too.
And so I exist
With this cavity
Where my heart should be.
And, bloodless, I look like death
Pale and starving,
Rotting flesh.
True, I could use his,
The one I hold with me,
But I do not wish to soil it
With my existence.
So I wait
For him to find me
As I look for him in turn
And perhaps we may return
What belonged to us in the first place.
Before he leaves,
I only wish
He'd breathe life back into me.
Tell me why
I bothered to try,
Why I reached for a star
That soon would die.
Because it was impossible.
It can't be done.
Feeling the warmth
Or the burn
As my fingers wrap around the shining light
And hold onto it long enough
To bring it back down from the heavens
And draw it close to me.
Too soon I would be burned,
Without even touching it,
Let alone bringing it back down.
From afar,
You look like pixie dust
Scattered across the sky.
But getting closer,
One might find
You're just
Full
Of
Hot
Air.
Wish I could shut her away
Shut her out
Because her simple words say so much
But all of them are veiled lies.
She spends her days as a dictator,
Telling me my own emotions
And putting words into my mouth.
She is wine;
Considered the drink of victors,
But lashes violently at open wounds.
She lets me think I've won
Until she burns me
Mercilessly.
A funeral, yes, but there was no casket.
A body hung from the ceiling by her fatal noose
And, upon closer inspection, I realized the body was mine,
Though I was not myself.
I was emaciated, bruised, and the look on my face was not a peaceful one
Could that of a suicide ever be?
No, there was not a coffin. I merely hung from the church rafters
As people dressed in black filed in to see me staring;
They had not shut my eyes.
I could see everyone.
Some were crying, though I know not why,
They had known of my existence, but not who I was.
My siblings entered in a line,
Wearing somber looks they had been told to ke
The Fool on the Hill by XxTheGirlWhoLivedxX, literature
Literature
The Fool on the Hill
Somewhere
Inside that head
There is ticking, slowly, turning
See the gears spin wildly
As people scoff
Because the steady clicks were a bit too loud.
The fool on the hill watches the earth turn as peers scorn him from below,
But still, he smiles at the sunset while others become
Preoccupied with their mundane lives
And he lies, just lies
To the melody of ocean breezes only he can pick out the tune.
Most would plead stupidity;
He can not
Will not
Comprehend, they say, the wonders of the universe.
Yet he bothers to observe them.
They say such a fool will never be anything more: foolish,
But I see the gears
Ticking
Spi
Sing sweetly, love,
Your song that I know with all senses
As I taste the euphony
And run my fingers over pages
Of time signatures and staccato notes.
You are the song I play
Endlessly
Until my fingers grow weary on ivory keys
Or twanging copper strings
And when I shut my eyes to sleep
You ring against my eardrums, whispering
Flowing euphemisms into the twilight air
From underneath the sheets.
Later, still, into the night
Your colors run over shut, drowsy eyes
The white glimmer of a smile
Or perpetually changing chestnut irises.
Still, your song tastes of vanilla
And, for those who listened long enough, candy floss an
Her eyes are fire and the wind's Her hair
And Her presence demands such astounded stares
And Her smile shakes kingdoms, Her laugh invokes rapture
And She's what everybody's after.
The day She rose, the night did fall
And in Her hellgirl's war cry call
The flawless, those who felt as free,
But Her call brought back nobody.
Some days
I just
Run out
Of words
And I taste the stars
Or my tears
Or my fears
And I grapple onto each floating bit of emotion in my head
But nothing is right.
No, nothing tonight.
I've used up my words
And I've tried to forge more
Out of lost Scrabble pieces
And alphabet soup
And children's building blocks.
I live
And I know,
But I cannot write
So I cannot feel.
This is not my heart
That I wear on my sleeve,
Pin on my lapel,
And carry in the pockets of my jeans.
It's not mine, though I don't know whose.
Whoever it is, he has mine, too.
And so I exist
With this cavity
Where my heart should be.
And, bloodless, I look like death
Pale and starving,
Rotting flesh.
True, I could use his,
The one I hold with me,
But I do not wish to soil it
With my existence.
So I wait
For him to find me
As I look for him in turn
And perhaps we may return
What belonged to us in the first place.
Before he leaves,
I only wish
He'd breathe life back into me.
Tell me why
I bothered to try,
Why I reached for a star
That soon would die.
Because it was impossible.
It can't be done.
Feeling the warmth
Or the burn
As my fingers wrap around the shining light
And hold onto it long enough
To bring it back down from the heavens
And draw it close to me.
Too soon I would be burned,
Without even touching it,
Let alone bringing it back down.
From afar,
You look like pixie dust
Scattered across the sky.
But getting closer,
One might find
You're just
Full
Of
Hot
Air.
Wish I could shut her away
Shut her out
Because her simple words say so much
But all of them are veiled lies.
She spends her days as a dictator,
Telling me my own emotions
And putting words into my mouth.
She is wine;
Considered the drink of victors,
But lashes violently at open wounds.
She lets me think I've won
Until she burns me
Mercilessly.
You know you're jealous of my crappy teen angst poetry.
I mostly made this account because of and Stalk them. They're sexy. I love them and all my fellow Chickens! And Aly, you will ALWAYS be our Mother Hen.
Shooooooooooeeeeeees.
Okay, so maybe I do like shoes more than the average person.
In other news, I got the best pair of shoes ever the other day!
These: http://oldnavy.gap.com/browse/product.do?cid=55149&vid=1&pid=878524&scid=878524002
Was this really worth making a journal about? Probably not. But I'm really excited. I haven't taken them off all day, and I almost want to sleep with them on if I weren't afraid of messing them up doing so. Y'all will see them on Monday.
I guess what I'm saying is that the "Hannah's got a shoe fetish" supporters have proved their point. Woo.
I love shoes. A lot.