wilting and the wallflower ✞ elverum&duncan blitz
Feb 8, 2015 0:50:50 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Feb 8, 2015 0:50:50 GMT -5
e l v e r u m.
Crowns of teeth, crows of crowns -- my heart beats with the capitol anthem and that's why I know I'm still breathing reality's air, (in out, in out, in out) it's all the same. I thought I'd be scared, the moment my feet are one with that stage and each pair of carnival peepholes are drilling into me, my soul their bird feed. But I wasn't. I was on that stage like my own air, like my cloud kingdom and they were my people and I, their prince. It's reality, and all these masks are empty, I can't spot Saffle or Duncan or Axton or the fourth or the third or the second or the first. It's all just me, in that somewhere, in that some place that wasn't smoke billows from mouths instead of factories, and sweat lines on uncleaned bed sheets.
Splinter of the soul, breaking teeth like chalk -- I was free.
Eyes of bees, ears of seas -- sea legs were never my forte. Swimming on emotions run high on that stage, my crowd, my audience, my district partner, my reaping, my death sentence; they shuffled me from platform to building, free of reigns for never. Smiles aren't etched across their painted anonymous faces, smiles aren't painted across my partner's, smiles aren't etched across a single Troshaldr.
Of remembrances -- wood panels scrap against the boots keeping me on the floor until the grey man shoves me into the door, face flat against the groan of my throat. "Don't rip apart the books like the last bait," and I'm in the room. Alone. Trumpets fade into the background and dingy grey sinks its fangs into my heart, cutting across the stitching. How will I survive this? This trek from distraction to happiness, across bomb fields and bomb pits.