Weeds dominated the yard and crippled the walkway. A lone tree stood, thin and naked, in the middle of the yard as if begging the gray sky to cover its shame with a curtain of rain. Past this sat a once proud house that years of neglect had brought to its knees. It's gray facade slumped with varicose veins of dead ivy and wrinkle-like cracks. The few windows were dark with layers of dust, their frames askew and crumbling. Old shingles, worn and loose, waited listlessly on the roof for a good wind to free them of their misery.
A young woman in a bright yellow sundress strode through, the weeds grasping at her bare legs. She knocked on the doo
End of the Line by FlightlessAlbatross, literature
Literature
End of the Line
The old subway station hadn't seen any use in decades. Once vibrant tiles were now coated in a layer of dust and cracked; many were even missing, creating a mosaic of empty spaces with seemingly no direction or meaning. Rats scurried along the walls or among the rusty tracks while a lone cat carefully selected its prey. Down here one wrong move would mean far worse than just missing a meal.
The old fluorescent lights flickered on. What little light filtered through the decades of dust and grime caused the rats to scramble in fear and the cat to take shelter on a concrete bench. A man in a suit came trodding down the stairs, briefcase in hand
It was quiet in the forest. The trees, devoid of leaves, stuck out of the ground like hands grasping toward the crescent moon. It was like this every night.
A slender, hooded figure strode through the snow. Its booted feet lightly crunched through the top layer, leaving behind crisp, clean footprints. Several tiny fairies, each surrounded by a glowing light, followed the figure. They danced through the tree trunks with hardly any sound.
The figure reached a small clearing – barely eight feet across – and found a flat stump that no blade had ever touched. It dusted the snow off, sat down, then reached for the guitar on its back.
lungs full of water
produce a cry
louder than ever before
yet no one hears
as he sinks beneath the waves
"sing me one last song"
and so he does
his soul in each word
yet no one hears
as the depths begin to crush
just as he sank
they lower him down
not a single sound made
but for falling tears
echoing in the silence
laughter bubbles forth from forgotten lips -
my tongue took all sensation for itself
that it may taste of every single sip -
and i place my hand upon your cold self
i'd kiss you once more
but it'd fade
on your paling
skin
shamed, embarassed, i laugh at my folly
to think that echoing the past would work -
this time is different, this time is new -
but your body repeats the same old tale
Weeds dominated the yard and crippled the walkway. A lone tree stood, thin and naked, in the middle of the yard as if begging the gray sky to cover its shame with a curtain of rain. Past this sat a once proud house that years of neglect had brought to its knees. It's gray facade slumped with varicose veins of dead ivy and wrinkle-like cracks. The few windows were dark with layers of dust, their frames askew and crumbling. Old shingles, worn and loose, waited listlessly on the roof for a good wind to free them of their misery.
A young woman in a bright yellow sundress strode through, the weeds grasping at her bare legs. She knocked on the doo
End of the Line by FlightlessAlbatross, literature
Literature
End of the Line
The old subway station hadn't seen any use in decades. Once vibrant tiles were now coated in a layer of dust and cracked; many were even missing, creating a mosaic of empty spaces with seemingly no direction or meaning. Rats scurried along the walls or among the rusty tracks while a lone cat carefully selected its prey. Down here one wrong move would mean far worse than just missing a meal.
The old fluorescent lights flickered on. What little light filtered through the decades of dust and grime caused the rats to scramble in fear and the cat to take shelter on a concrete bench. A man in a suit came trodding down the stairs, briefcase in hand
It was quiet in the forest. The trees, devoid of leaves, stuck out of the ground like hands grasping toward the crescent moon. It was like this every night.
A slender, hooded figure strode through the snow. Its booted feet lightly crunched through the top layer, leaving behind crisp, clean footprints. Several tiny fairies, each surrounded by a glowing light, followed the figure. They danced through the tree trunks with hardly any sound.
The figure reached a small clearing – barely eight feet across – and found a flat stump that no blade had ever touched. It dusted the snow off, sat down, then reached for the guitar on its back.
i tremble.
ghostlike touches on your cheek-
dare i press any harder?
featherlight kisses upon your lips
lest i break the spell
and wake to the reality
of mirror images and dancing shadows
past the plane on which you live.
but for now i hold you
soft as a soul's embrace
and remain enchanted as your dream.
pale blue tint upon your lips
a kiss that can't renew
forget the boys that yet draw breath
their hearts are not for you
place my hand upon your hips
a dance to a dark tune
remember now you dance with death
and all his love for you
This night of a thousand suns,
I can feel the world burning
deep within my veins.
This night of a million lights,
I feel the the air letting go
within my lungs.
This night, this final night,
where the moon shines forever bright;
above you, and above I...
I forget telling you I wouldn't think of you,
I forget the feeling of being alone.
This night, darkness closing,
I know you can feel me,
that you will always here me,
as death comes to find me
and finally pull me away.
This night of infinite truths,
I hope you know this one:
I'll always be with you.
When sun goes down and darkness falls
When shadows haunt these closing walls
Voices answer distant calls
He hides behind his throne
In memories fading, lost and old
In halls once great, now empty and cold
Where once grew hope, naive and bold
This is no longer home
His anger aches through flesh and bone
His screaming echoes, he's all alone
The floor is binding his tears in the stone
To keep his sorrow for ever
An empire built on others confusion
A vampire defeated by his own illusion
A fall of a damned as one sad conclusion
He laughs at all his endeavour
A pitiful attempt, a try to restore it
His powers are failing, his life i
I've lost my mind,
I'm not sure where it's gone,
I don't know where it's at,
I'm sure it was here yesterday,
Or was it a day before that?
Is it possible I've misplaced it?
Is it possible I drove it away?
Has someone come and stolen it?
Has someone whisked it away?
Fire, fire burning bright
Ignite this lonely soul tonight.
Chase away the tattered robes
And wipe down the dirty stones.
Gasps and groans escape my lips
As a broken prayer slips.
my heart beats a rhythm to follow
as i run through these dead-end streets.
all too late i realize that i know
that this is the last night for me.
help, i'm alive, but not for long -
you're catching up far too quickly;
and, quick as i am, i feel that's wrong -
a dead-end cuts this chase swiftly.
my blood's running ice beneath my skin,
sending cold shivers down my spine,
and, as your fangs hit the veins deep within,
you drink my life down like wine.
It was quiet in the forest. The trees, devoid of leaves, stuck out of the ground like hands grasping toward the crescent moon. It was like this every night.
A slender, hooded figure strode through the snow. Its booted feet lightly crunched through the top layer, leaving behind crisp, clean footprints. Several tiny fairies, each surrounded by a glowing light, followed the figure. They danced through the tree trunks with hardly any sound.
The figure reached a small clearing – barely eight feet across – and found a flat stump that no blade had ever touched. It dusted the snow off, sat down, then reached for the guitar on its back.