you're the one baby, so meet your demise, oh lucy! lucy! lucy! in the sky
the willowz inspired this one.
She felt so dirty. like the snow, trampled on and on, dark and unpure. Almost jaded like a sales person at christmastime. The same smile. The same laugh. She was sleeping on the bed attached to the window sill when the radio seemed to scream at her in disdain. "you know you can own this world child, you just gotta try." Her painted on eyes opened, the room was grey and cold, the lack of colour could have been a black and white photo without a filter. She shouted at the radio in a look of crazed, blazed and hazed temperament. now her final questions stood as, to whom she owes this wardrobe to? and to whom first told her she could own the world?
he was an old soul they told him, injecting his own sweetened words to anyone who could have it. because he knew if he flattered someone enough they would take hold to him like a string takes to a kite. now he was just in an alley, wasted and unchaste. he heard the screams of an aggravated girl, probably psychotic he thought. he looked up to where the first window of the building was. white sills, no curtain. he heard some static rock music coming from an unseen player. he thought, well this could be interesting.
she opened the window and threw down a box of non-descriptive characters, old polaroids with numbers of vogue boys, which if dialled today would be out of service. a cashmere scarf with the stale scent of a burberry cologne now unknown, faded with age. another an album of photo booth pictures, in which incapsulated the happiness of moments, the embarassing faces made and smiles that could never be faked. a cap that she could never find to where it belonged. a list with the songs she listened to when she was in love. now that she was out of love and out of anything she needed some time away. a time where she could stop looking at old photos of how it was. fuck how it was. nostalgia was killing her and now she was paying for it.
while looking up he saw a pigment of a girl, lined eyes and a past that made history. then something he did not expect. a box flew from her hands like a dove from the hands of a sad eyed child. he stepped out of it's way as it pummelled to the cement, informing him of it's heavy importance. he picked up the box and twiddled around with it's contents. ahh he thought the contents of past loves, lies, and damned demise. he climbed the few steps of the fire escape to the open window where the wind blew freely in with no inhibitions, just like a friend who walks in your house with their shoes on. he lingered in front of the window in hopes she really wasn't psychotic, for a second imagining all the possible, terrible things that could happen.
she sat on the floor, eye liner smeared, radio turned up to the most possible setting. she wrote a few lines furiously on her wall. she heard a creak coming from her window. she turned around in slow motion scared to see what she would find.
he saw a girl who was still a girl. in need of some comfort. he smiled at her with the box in his hand, "you know if we were in america, i could probably sue you for endangerment."
she clapped her hands to her mouth. "i am so sorry."
he said, "girl you're the one, you better meet your demise."
She felt so dirty. like the snow, trampled on and on, dark and unpure. Almost jaded like a sales person at christmastime. The same smile. The same laugh. She was sleeping on the bed attached to the window sill when the radio seemed to scream at her in disdain. "you know you can own this world child, you just gotta try." Her painted on eyes opened, the room was grey and cold, the lack of colour could have been a black and white photo without a filter. She shouted at the radio in a look of crazed, blazed and hazed temperament. now her final questions stood as, to whom she owes this wardrobe to? and to whom first told her she could own the world?
he was an old soul they told him, injecting his own sweetened words to anyone who could have it. because he knew if he flattered someone enough they would take hold to him like a string takes to a kite. now he was just in an alley, wasted and unchaste. he heard the screams of an aggravated girl, probably psychotic he thought. he looked up to where the first window of the building was. white sills, no curtain. he heard some static rock music coming from an unseen player. he thought, well this could be interesting.
she opened the window and threw down a box of non-descriptive characters, old polaroids with numbers of vogue boys, which if dialled today would be out of service. a cashmere scarf with the stale scent of a burberry cologne now unknown, faded with age. another an album of photo booth pictures, in which incapsulated the happiness of moments, the embarassing faces made and smiles that could never be faked. a cap that she could never find to where it belonged. a list with the songs she listened to when she was in love. now that she was out of love and out of anything she needed some time away. a time where she could stop looking at old photos of how it was. fuck how it was. nostalgia was killing her and now she was paying for it.
while looking up he saw a pigment of a girl, lined eyes and a past that made history. then something he did not expect. a box flew from her hands like a dove from the hands of a sad eyed child. he stepped out of it's way as it pummelled to the cement, informing him of it's heavy importance. he picked up the box and twiddled around with it's contents. ahh he thought the contents of past loves, lies, and damned demise. he climbed the few steps of the fire escape to the open window where the wind blew freely in with no inhibitions, just like a friend who walks in your house with their shoes on. he lingered in front of the window in hopes she really wasn't psychotic, for a second imagining all the possible, terrible things that could happen.
she sat on the floor, eye liner smeared, radio turned up to the most possible setting. she wrote a few lines furiously on her wall. she heard a creak coming from her window. she turned around in slow motion scared to see what she would find.
he saw a girl who was still a girl. in need of some comfort. he smiled at her with the box in his hand, "you know if we were in america, i could probably sue you for endangerment."
she clapped her hands to her mouth. "i am so sorry."
he said, "girl you're the one, you better meet your demise."