marley {d7/fin}
Jul 16, 2015 22:27:38 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jul 16, 2015 22:27:38 GMT -5
Calloused fingers across blank canvas there is no comparison to the map that lays to the right. Points of places never to be visited by a soul tied to hollow ground by heavy stones-- soul of a bird in the body of a girl. Pencil point to blank canvas lines drawn only to be decimated-- she cannot sketch symbiosis with a human hand. Facts known to fuck with fantasy at the first opportunity there is no secondary standard for a life lived in wanderlust. Land lying in heart only to have been scoured by a restless mind-- there is no place of hiding for the hills.
Porcelain skin marked by a landscape constantly changing-- there is no permanence to an ever-beating heart caught in the same rhythm. Never changing, too stoic for the skin it hid behind and the roads that crossed it, back roads and highways across the body of a girl dynamic.
Always shifting; never still, scratching nails across smooth skin to see the marks fade, the varying of landscape only reminder of a reality never remembered by those who perished in it. World never the same for two alike-- there is no beauty in the burden of one. No treasure in traversed ground, she wished to fall claim upon a world never touched prior, only to find the footprints of a foreigner. Stranger in her own skin she was to sacrifice herself for the call of a war not hers to fight, a flag of surrender grasped tightly by calloused fingers but never hoisted high.
White of a purity never to be marred by stained hands there is no place for sin upon the sane. A twisted mine not to be untangled there is no rest for constant movement, a fidgeting mental turned material, fingernails scratched upon smooth skin to watch marks fade with the minute hand. Knots tied in rope and stomach alike there is no promise for the countdown, definition at the end of a timeline wished to remain infinite.
She is red stains upon white tablecloths, the bloody hand print plastered upon the flag of surrender. No war cry or cannon to fall from her lips she'll settle for silent warfare, setting her stake upon empty ground in an attempt to stir the silence. But to find ground untouched was expedition too great for the shoulders of a fragile girl feigned by fear. Unbelieving of a world greater than herself there is nothing to find behind glass of eyes turned blue and grey by time spent under a sky of the same.
But glass is fragile and so is she, two shards of a girl shoved back together by fate's reluctance to drop her to the ground beneath her feet. No hell-bound travel for the heavenly she does not find her compass pointing north with the passing breeze. Pulled east by wanderlust and dragged west by home there is no sin in south, turned to discretion upon the magnetic field there are no directions for the damned.
Fate feigned by fortune there is no glory in coins tossed at her feet, grasped by fingers calloused clinging to the dirt underneath her nails. Fortune in the hands of the few the trickle down system does not appeal to the skyscrapers of a world she can only imagine.
But she's never been one for paved streets and walls towering, rather turned to the wind of a sky turned grey and an imagination turned blue, despair in her mind and hope in her heart there is no direction to follow when north does not exist.
Scrawled upon the pages of a worn storybook the impression of pencil point pressed to paper lied the tragedy of a timeline never wished to be repeated. Families split and lovers entwined, she found no use for blood relations and no use in severing veins of the heart for a love that would not last.
No need for necessity there was only a striving simplicity for open ground beneath bare feet.
But standing on shaking legs there is no spine to be found beneath scratched skin, dirty fingernails digging at a history never to be buried there is no use in leaning on a ground bound to give way when the heart of a sister lies directly north.
Family is for the feeble and maybe she is weak, but she does not find burden in the blind eyes of siblings lost by sin and sympathy. One and the same she cannot press her palms to their own and watch lines cross with the ideals of meeting. Never one to be mimicked she longs for hollow grounds to match light ribs in her chest, bird in the body of a broken girl, there is no lift under broken wings.
Fallen to the fallible there is no heroism running through her veins, no egotistical need on the tip of her tongue. No longing for a life lived young there is a bullet pressed to the space between her eyes, gun offered to her palm as calloused fingers consider the idea of taking hold, dying young to stake claim on an empty land.
Exhalation shallow in cracking lungs the click of a finger and the safety's on.
No hell-bound venture for the heavenly there is no end to an odyssey out of reach from her calloused fingertips. Fingers laced with a fate out of reach there is nothing to find in a blue sky turned grey, black and white static background noise in a world too busy there is no distinguishing static from sanity.
Gun discarded alongside the most materialistic of these, despair, mistrust, and a will to please-- she kneels upon the footprints of another on land otherwise unmarred. One bloody hand print on a white flag laid across her back she rises to bare feet, stepping stones to a story told round the flicker of a flame never to fade.
"Once upon a time there lived a bird in the body of a girl, and she found a world untouched by any other soul. She called it home by definition and heart's desire by mind. But truly it was neither of these, for solitude was to drive insanity and one day she'd be left to pick up the shards of glass she would be sure to cut scratched skin upon if she was not careful."
table by elegant
