Feet rasp reluctantly on the pavement, the soles of shoes long-ago neglected slowly wearing down at the dragging steps; melancholy often takes a toll on ones footwear.
Breath becomes visible in the cold morning air, swirling out like a snake. Lungs ache. Feet hurt. Hands shake. Head throbs. It becomes apparent to the universe that there is but a lone man walking on the side of the empty street. Not a car passes by, not a person spies him from a window, not even the birds take notice of him. And yet the world knows his dull pain, his lonely stroll. The world knows his life, his death, and the hitchhiking madness that stretches out his metaphors in the roads between.
His feet move him slowly forward, each step awakening blisters. Time trickles past his mind and through the cracks in his fingers. Time floods, time clogs, time heals no wounds, yet wounds the man's heals as he trudges along. Time has no end, yet ends everything.
Percy gazes up at the tree thoughtfully. What was it Neccei had said to him about apples? He ponders this for a moment, racking his muddled brain for the memory, then grins, hoisting himself up to the lowest branch. Yes, now he remembers, she had told him that the first bite of any apple is always the best bite. No joke, she had promised.
What wonderful things Neccei always taught him!
Percy climbs higher up into the tree, until he is eye-level with a large, red apple that looks quite delicious. He reaches up and picks it, balancing on a rather thin branch that is barely keeping him from tumbling to the ground. He takes a large bite out of the apple, his grin widening as it makes a satisfying snapping sound when his teeth sink into it. Neccei had been right!The first bite of this apple had been very enjoyable.
As you fall into the tides of her sleeping You play out the slices of pen on paper- To kiss the scars beneath her hands Is to put lips to ink Ink to sheets Sheets and scars to blend alike And curve into letters That you would send to her through her trance- But she doesn't dream; Rather, she traces her fingers through stars, Her feet dipped in galaxies As she drinks from the planets and moons around her head In her celestial rest.
I haven't posted a song in a while! I have so many that I'm going to try and record, but this one I wanted to record and post as soon as possible; I'm kind of proud of it, even though at the same time I dislike it -the self-inflicted curse of songwriting. It's supposed to be the theme of a short movie I'm working on, but that's not even close to being done yet, so for now, here's the song! (Constructive criticism much appreciated!) Lyrics:
Walk to a place Down in the rain Drowning in plain old everyday Pockets and a tired face Just go along Ignoring that empty space
Places, things I can't recall Done with it all, in a way Breathing through the empty days Just go along Dig deeper a hiding space
He could never help but secretly be A hopeless romantic, (Just in the way that crickets cannot help but chirp On a summer night.) Early mornings Selling his soul to pen and ink, Paper and heart, The coming day seeming irrelevant to all that he knew. Late nights Wearing down the experience of his fingers Songs at the ocean, Sand everywhere — where does it stop And fade into the gentle plucking of his guitar? Detrimental smoke (Continue strumming) Stop and listen (You can't hear a thing.)
He can't help but fall in love Through the sound of Queen playing gently on the speakers, Or some forgotten song conceived by the Arctic Monkeys That has been written by everyone who has ever listened to it (Alone) In his room Accompanied by his thoughts and his words And the steady ticking of a clock —
(A/N: This isn't the entirety of the first chapter, but it's just a little piece of it, There are a few things that are explained a couple chapters later, but for now here's this.)
“...Come back baby Back into my arm We're gettin' tired of hangin' around Waitin’ around with our heads to the ground I hear a very gentle sound Very near yet, very far Very soft yeah, very clear Come today, come today…”
(A/N: This is another excerpt from my novel! It's not in order, this is a piece from the middle, so it might be a bit confusing, but please read it! I'd love feedback!)
Namikk had truly screwed up this time, and there was no denying it. He had no food, only a few hundred dollars that had to last him for god knows how long, and he was in a strange city he didn’t even know how to pronounce the name of. (Was it pronounced May-tune-shire? Or Mee-ton-shirr? Or something else entirely…)
Not to mention it was freezing outside. No, that didn’t even need to be mentioned. He dearly wished that he had taken a warmer coat. A longer one, too, would have been nice. The wad of money in his pants pocket was making him nervous; it was too visible, wasn’t it? He was likely to get robbed.
(A/N: This is the prologue to the novel I'm working on, "Tone Vestige." Be warned, it's a bit... strange.)
“Yes, star crossed in pleasure the stream flows on by Yes, as we're sated in leisure, we watch it fly And time waits for no one, and it won't wait for me And time waits for no one, and it won't wait for me Time can tear down a building or destroy a woman's face Hours are like diamonds, don't let them waste Time waits for no one, no favors has he Time waits for no one, and he won't wait for me Men, they build towers to their passing yes, to their fame everlasting Here he comes chopping and reaping, hear him laugh at their cheating And time waits for no man, and it won't wait for me Yes, time waits for no one, and it won't wait for me Drink in your summer, gather your corn The dreams of the night time will vanish by dawn And time waits for no one, and it won't wait for me