and take me away hannah
Dec 1, 2011 0:37:41 GMT -5
Post by skylarversion2 on Dec 1, 2011 0:37:41 GMT -5
"someway, baby, it's part of me, apart from me"
You're laying waste to Halloween
You fu**ed it friend, it's on its head, it struck the street
You're in Milwaukee, off your feet
And I slept that night. My eyelids were glued together and I was neurotic. I dreamt.
I'd set fire to my house and I'd watched it burn.
Right down to the last ash, soft and conserved and warm with the flavor of fire still tastefully spread across the ground. The two chickens they constantly kept in the hay-filled wire meshed cube thrashed as the embers rained around and on them, their feathers. The sky was white and so were the trees, the flames were bright and so were the keys. Keys to the instrument that played its tune for me. The clouds were black.
In moments, the tiniestshiniest ceramic blades sprouted from my back and my hands were monsters.
I don't remember what I am, or what I used to be. I remember what I was meant to be, and I know I am not.... and at once I knew I was not magnificent
Strayed above the highway aisle
(Jagged vacance, thick with ice)
I could see for miles, miles, miles
The wind is cold, but it's a blanket. It's what I cling to when I try to sleep, propped against the brick of a building, wrapped in some fortunate District 8 fabric. The stars dance in my mind, I see them clearly although my eyes are closed.
I take these times and I spit out my thoughts, I use my hands and hope to excavate the good and bury the bad. Dawn will arrive soon and I will try.
There's a paint shop in our District and it's full of red. There's white canvases and there's a constant stream of people, all with the same mindset and almost all male. There's the occasional female, but usually the guys are the paint buyers. They'll purchase and they'll give, then the girls will use their hands or their homemade brushes and paint a target.
The backyards of District Nine are large and if one doesn't have a tree, there's a tall wooden plank to replace one. They're all fenced and in the corners, mounds and mounds of used targets lay dormant.
I need something to write on, and walls surround me constantly. I have nothing but the District to use, and so I will use it. I find myself in the paint shop, and my slender fingers grab a dropped bottle of paint and I take it. I sit along the wall and no one sees me grab it, but as I slip out.
