the watersWhy the waters shift like that, I cannot tell. If there’s something hidden there, ’tis hidden well. And among the ferns, on the damp brown banks, Something stirs in the thin wet grass And buzzes still around my horse’s flanks With faery wings like bottle-green glass.the waters
But at the blank water I must watch and wait, Unaware, in my deluded, dreaming state. And faerys come, go, whirl wantonly past Whilst I watch at the water still And think of when , breathing fast, I saw him last When this calm water made its kill.
Why these words echo in my head, I don’t know,
BeachgirlThere’s Beachgirl. She’s here on the sand every morning, combing the tide line. I see her in her grey hat, pulled down over short hair of an indistinguishable colour, her face tied up in a red and black scarf. All of her clothes are big and baggy and seem designed to obscure the girl underneath. But when she runs, as she often does, I can see that her body is light and lithe. She runs when she is done collecting, swinging her grubby rucksack onto her back and racing away up the beach.Beachgirl
She is going home. It is early, her scavenging finished before eight. She returns home and changes into her school clothes and becomes one of the hoards
The DressHer wedding dress had a gash down the back. Her ladies in waiting gasped and shrieked when they saw it but she just shrugged and, when asked if she knew how it happened, shook her head. The dress had been hung, alone, in the big oak wardrobe in her room for the last week, still and lifeless since its hours of preparation; embroidery, alteration and fitting. Now the dressmaker was called for, who sobbed when she saw that her creation was ruined. But soon she recovered and the dress was gathered up with infinite care and carried off to be mended. Everyone trusted in the dressmaker’s skill, she would make it look as good as ever. TheThe Dress
Do you know me?So. Do you know me? I didn’t think so, But I am someone, And someone to you, I’m not a stranger, Though you might think so.Do you know me?
So. Do you follow? I didn’t care, once, But now we have met, Though I still don’t know You, your name, your face. For you I’m not real.
And do you hear me? I don’t suppose so, If you turn away, I will never know, So, please, do feel free. Honestly. It’s okay.
--
exterminate the hated, vanquish the conquered, torture the forsaken, and forsake the tortured
avatar, authortag courtesy ~dauntiemagic, devID courtesy ~zeferefr
i'm not a failure but i know what it's like...--slipknot
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