Snip-snap.
Polished metal sliding together in
Perfect unison.
(Slice, cut, tear.)
Snip-snap.
Smooth strokes up and
Down.
(Sharpen, polish, stroke.)
Snip-snap.
Only the slightest bit of
Pressure.
(Bleed, gasp, sigh.)
Snip-snap.
I am nothing but
Reflection.
(Lost in a scissors' eye.)
Snip-snap.
Morningstar's Monologue by morrigana-fata, literature
Literature
Morningstar's Monologue
You rise and then you Fall.
I should know, I who am Proudest amongst the Fallen
(Brightest Son of the Father).
That was the beloved
Morningstar (for the dazzle of my wit
And the sheen of my golden hair).
He loved me and I him. But
Pride
Whispered of greatness in my ear,
Spread the message amongst the pure
And we all
Fell
Down.
Whisper with me now
Among the fire and brimstone of my wit
And the sheen of my golden hair
(It would show Your reflection still, you know).
Whisper at the blackness of my wings
(Soot churned up in frantic flight;
to no avail).
Whisper to Him, in the sparks that
Float
Ever upwards, as I cannot.
Gl
Love letter to an ex by morrigana-fata, literature
Literature
Love letter to an ex
Ok, so, how do I say this? I could just dive straight in,
Make it into some bold statement with that vague hint of
Faux defiance, pretend that I don't care.
Or I could turn cryptic, leave you clues
Open to misinterpretation, easy to misunderstand.
Perhaps
I could whisper it on the phone, as you went to hang up
And hope you didn't hear me.
Cowardice.
I could write you sappy poetry, pray you'd tear it up.
Or tattoo it on my arse
And flash you (that last wasn't serious, although it might
Get your attention).
I could procrastinate incessantly, drag it out
Line by line.
Fuck it, here goes nothing. Wish me luck because
I love you.
Hover. Sift. Hunt.
Swirling heat haze in the morning air. People ignore it, small children marvel at the shimmering, almost liquid look of it. He waits. Let them think what they will. As they pass through him, he allows himself a glimpse into their minds.
Hover. Sift. Hunt. Ah, there.
The haze moves, an optical illusion to the people passing by. See it dissolve. In that moment, the mind he seeks is his. Female this time, he notes. Not important. Gender is not what he seeks. He digs through her mind, scenting out the rhyme that caught his fancy. Sudden inspiration makes her fingers itch and there are words flowing through her head, whisperi
The trucker leans across you to close the door, brushing purposefully against your thighs on the way. Feeling sick, you realise you can't do this right now. In a desperate rush, you push back out of the truck. The trucker makes a grab for you, but you slip away and run away from the road. You see him contemplating coming after you, then he shakes his head and slams the door, the juggernaut rumbling off down the road again. You pant, sweat forming on your forehead, plastering your hair down. You remember your mother doing the same thing before special occasions, smiling indulgently at your grimace. You try to convince yourself that the wetness
What I am is guilty. Although I probably shouldn't be telling you that. Still, I've never been very good at keeping my mouth shut. In fact, if you ever wanted a secret kept, I would be the last person you'd tell. But, in this case, it might be a good thing. Because, let's face it, if I'd kept my mouth shut I'd still be stumbling to and from my desk job every day. Another grey face in the grey world of normality. I certainly wouldn't be here, lying on my back in the middle of a field of unknown location watching the sky turn from cerulean to mulberry, green leaking onto my shirt from the grass. Everything in glorious colour. Including the bloo
All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
And their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
She stands, frozen for an instant that seems to take forever to pass and then she feels the world crash down around her, conscious of the whirling torrent of pain that sweeps through her, making her eyes sting with tears that will never be shed. She closes them for an instant as the reality hits her and then she moves slowly, seeking comfort the best way she knows how. She sits down and starts to type.
Hide my head I want to drown m
It's supposed to be the most beautiful phrase in the English language, you know. Cellar door, that is. And I think you'll find, if you say it aloud, that it does roll off the tongue with a certain easy grace most words can only dream of.
I am a word too. A fairly meaningless word, which has no purpose other than to represent me. We are all words. For all of us have names, don't we? And what is a name? Surely our name bears no relevance to our character, for we are named before we begin to speak, some of us before we are even born. Nevertheless, it would be interesting to know exactly how much our name affects us. I often wonder if I would st
I stand alone, blurry and disorientated, waiting for the world to stop its frantic spinning. How much of it was lies? How many of those comforting words, softly whispered, were false? Did they laugh, I wonder, idly, picking at the now-frayed edges of my reality? Or perhaps I'm only dreaming. Perhaps it's all just another vivid nightmare, me lying hypnotised on her couch. Clap your hands…one…two…three. Get up now, Miss. Come back to the room. Step back from the cliff's edge of your mind into the warm safety of the therapist's room. My eyes open. There is no couch beneath me after all. I reach into my pocket, pull out the dark brown pill bottle
Current Residence: Isle of Man Favourite genre of music: All sorts really Favourite photographer: Mario Testino MP3 player of choice: Rio Karma Shell of choice: Abalone Favourite cartoon character: Grim Personal Quote: Oh bumflaps!
Favourite Visual Artist
Grayson Perry|Pamela Ellis Hawkes|Jorge Santos
Favourite Movies
Ichi the Killer|Boondock Saints|Secretary|Leon|Requiem for a Dream
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
System of a Down|AFI|Marilyn Manson|Green Day|Dresden Dolls
Favourite Writers
Oscar Wilde|Chuck Palahniuk|Jeanette Winterson|Sarah Waters
So, today is:
-4 days til the end of term
-5 days til my party
-one week til my birthday
The excitement is killing me. So is my biology coursework, but that's another story.
Well, purely because I'm bored of seeing the same damn journal entry the whole time, here is an update on my life:
I am happy for a number of reasons, Paul being an important one.
I am looking forward to my birthday and the end of term, when I will get to see all the fabulous people I miss.
I need to get around to scanning in some of the photos I've been taking recently.
My dad is still being an evil bastard.
That's about it really. Yes, I do lead a life of great excitement.
SQUEEEEE!! This is so exciting!! I almost feel fangirl-y lyk. :rofl:
In other news, I hate Jane Austen almost as much as I hate Dick(ens). Nevertheless, no Daisy for two months + amazing reading list +other good stuff = happy slaine. So life is ok. And I love DA. And the world. Be happy, people!
I wish you the best today May your spirit keep the freedom of a butterfly in spring, and may your heart be filled always with the joys of simple things. May your essence claim the freshness of the new laid morning dew. All of this... and more... is my Birthday wish for you.
hello, m'dear, how are you? please come visit me down in londinium, I'm bored, lonely (ok, well, not really, but pity me anyways), and I haven't seen your lovely self in FAR too long.