For The Agony, I'd Rather Know | Chelsey
Aug 5, 2012 5:14:29 GMT -5
Post by Tattletale on Aug 5, 2012 5:14:29 GMT -5
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.// learna antiopa libertine
Peek in, into the peer in
I'm not really like this, I'm probably plightless
I cup the window
I'm crippled and slow
For the agony, I'd rather know
From slow footsteps that painstakingly tread the currents of her agonizing wails, I burst into a run, desperate to get away from the human whirlpool that was my sister. My sister, Penelope ― the name wouldn't bring memories fuzzy with nostalgia, of times we exchanged affectionate hugs and reassuring words. We had none of those, never when we spent nearly a lifetime too busy screaming until our throats went dry. They became too bone-dry that the ocean threatened to fill us until we were back in their grasp, in their arms (although we were sputtering for dear oxygen) for us to be reminded once again that we were theirs.
Hearing Penelope cry even harder was a reminder of that. But this time, it wasn't only the ocean fighting for her (her mind, her soul, her life), the Capitol too. "The Capitol and the ocean could be sisters, too," a dead little soul whispers to me. "And why is that?" I grit through my teeth. To have souls running wild inside your mind was never an advantage (you would be demented to think that it was), especially when they never stop babbling their supposedly-golden thoughts. "Because they both lure you in. With their great proportions." But I shoved them away, impatient with little distractions. It was almost laughable to think that I could wave away the matter that I was possessed, but underneath my feet, no matter how fast I may try to walk away from her, there was something growing beneath me. And as it grows, I can feel it eating away a part of me.
As if I was the one to be delivered to my very death, fragments of the past call for my attention, each of their degrading bird calls filled with mocking affection that I should've showed, decisions that I should've made, and compassion that I should've gave. They were all reminders of my faults, I knew, but to acknowledge such an obvious fact was something that I wasn't ― and never ― going to do.
Penelope's cries reverberates in the back of my mind, never failing to haunt me, each so long that they compare to my measly age. They were so long, too, that they could've been the years we should've spent as a family ―a real one, not simply pieces of what was such a dysfunctional game. But now, the time was up.
Desperation pumps through my veins, driving my feet to run faster for what the remains of my sanity was worth. Somewhere, an omnipotent life form must be cackling at my foolishness to try and avoid what was inevitable from the beginning. The lovechild of fear and guilt had been placed upon my hands, like a gift, a consolation prize that made me want to double over and cry until another apocalypse comes and finally takes me away. But I ran like the bastard that I am, I ran though my eyes were clouded with tears, and only found a speck of refuge when my palm touched with the familiar wood of our pawn shop's door. I pushed it open, and a thin yet breakable layer of familiarity rested on me when I realized that these brash actions came from the same brash girl. But the slight momentum of relief was crushed when I saw the pale hair, a stand-out among the layers of dust settled among our furniture. And soon, it will rest on Penelope's coffin.
[/color]Hearing Penelope cry even harder was a reminder of that. But this time, it wasn't only the ocean fighting for her (her mind, her soul, her life), the Capitol too. "The Capitol and the ocean could be sisters, too," a dead little soul whispers to me. "And why is that?" I grit through my teeth. To have souls running wild inside your mind was never an advantage (you would be demented to think that it was), especially when they never stop babbling their supposedly-golden thoughts. "Because they both lure you in. With their great proportions." But I shoved them away, impatient with little distractions. It was almost laughable to think that I could wave away the matter that I was possessed, but underneath my feet, no matter how fast I may try to walk away from her, there was something growing beneath me. And as it grows, I can feel it eating away a part of me.
As if I was the one to be delivered to my very death, fragments of the past call for my attention, each of their degrading bird calls filled with mocking affection that I should've showed, decisions that I should've made, and compassion that I should've gave. They were all reminders of my faults, I knew, but to acknowledge such an obvious fact was something that I wasn't ― and never ― going to do.
Penelope's cries reverberates in the back of my mind, never failing to haunt me, each so long that they compare to my measly age. They were so long, too, that they could've been the years we should've spent as a family ―a real one, not simply pieces of what was such a dysfunctional game. But now, the time was up.
Desperation pumps through my veins, driving my feet to run faster for what the remains of my sanity was worth. Somewhere, an omnipotent life form must be cackling at my foolishness to try and avoid what was inevitable from the beginning. The lovechild of fear and guilt had been placed upon my hands, like a gift, a consolation prize that made me want to double over and cry until another apocalypse comes and finally takes me away. But I ran like the bastard that I am, I ran though my eyes were clouded with tears, and only found a speck of refuge when my palm touched with the familiar wood of our pawn shop's door. I pushed it open, and a thin yet breakable layer of familiarity rested on me when I realized that these brash actions came from the same brash girl. But the slight momentum of relief was crushed when I saw the pale hair, a stand-out among the layers of dust settled among our furniture. And soon, it will rest on Penelope's coffin.
With no hesitation, I throw the burden her way, completely aware of this wreck that I was causing, and would soon weep over. But it was better, so much better for the devil that I had become.
"You didn't make a deal with her," my whisper of a voice echoes throughout the shop, but I knew very well that she could hear me. And I knew very well that she knew what I meant: you didn't save me.[/color]
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Would you really rush out for me now?
Taught line, down to the shoreline
The end of a blood line, the moon is a cold light
There's a pull to the flow
My feet melt the snow
For the irony, I'd rather know
'Cause blinded I was blindsided
Taught line, down to the shoreline
The end of a blood line, the moon is a cold light
There's a pull to the flow
My feet melt the snow
For the irony, I'd rather know
'Cause blinded I was blindsided
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