Writing, slightly weird things.
Clearly I've been writing too many coherant things recently.
Edit - actually, I think I've just not been writing much non-good guy, crazy person stuff recently.
So, instead:
Glass
I'm looking at you through glass.
The glass. My glass. Bound and sealed away, all-all-all away. Down in the dark. Bright with me, hidden away. Smoke and glass, locked deep, deep, deep where the roots are.
The root's the heart, my lovely.
I'm looking at you.
Lucky seven, it's said. Dead lucky seven, bad lucky seven. And the great trees grow for those seven, black and white and so very tall, so very strong with their glass roots. My roots.
You wonder, don't you? It's in the eyes, my lovely, every time you look. Silent. Shouting. Smashing at my glass with your pretty hands. Answers, my lovely. All you have to do is ask.
Because I know. Flame and smoke and light, and the white to ashes. All to dust and dust to glass. My glass, shattered to smoke. All broken, down here in the dark you crave.
Kill me, my lovely. Steel to smoke and silver flesh, for the blood of it, the heart and the root and the fire of it.
No? Not for seven?
I'm looking at you.
Bring them, to sparkle in fear and such a beautiful hate. Hate me, hate you, hate to be. And the trees grow tall, and I whisper in their leaves and dance in their little dreams.
Dream of me dancing. As the night burns in crystal, our feet become smoke, with the rose of blood in your teeth. Hate me, my lovely, in your black way. Bring the light to me, here at the heart, and know, at the end of all things.
Fail for me, my lovely. And I will dance in your ashes and bring you to glass.
Edit - actually, I think I've just not been writing much non-good guy, crazy person stuff recently.
So, instead:
Glass
I'm looking at you through glass.
The glass. My glass. Bound and sealed away, all-all-all away. Down in the dark. Bright with me, hidden away. Smoke and glass, locked deep, deep, deep where the roots are.
The root's the heart, my lovely.
I'm looking at you.
Lucky seven, it's said. Dead lucky seven, bad lucky seven. And the great trees grow for those seven, black and white and so very tall, so very strong with their glass roots. My roots.
You wonder, don't you? It's in the eyes, my lovely, every time you look. Silent. Shouting. Smashing at my glass with your pretty hands. Answers, my lovely. All you have to do is ask.
Because I know. Flame and smoke and light, and the white to ashes. All to dust and dust to glass. My glass, shattered to smoke. All broken, down here in the dark you crave.
Kill me, my lovely. Steel to smoke and silver flesh, for the blood of it, the heart and the root and the fire of it.
No? Not for seven?
I'm looking at you.
Bring them, to sparkle in fear and such a beautiful hate. Hate me, hate you, hate to be. And the trees grow tall, and I whisper in their leaves and dance in their little dreams.
Dream of me dancing. As the night burns in crystal, our feet become smoke, with the rose of blood in your teeth. Hate me, my lovely, in your black way. Bring the light to me, here at the heart, and know, at the end of all things.
Fail for me, my lovely. And I will dance in your ashes and bring you to glass.