Sequel: Stardust ›
Status: We'll see, kids.
Kelly Lawrence
i'm so happy;
Empty streets and matching fences. Moonlight bathed even pavement and perfectly mown lawns in a soft lighting, grey shadows looming from neat cut trees and polished cars. The familiar crème of painted houses appeared almost ghostly in the haunting lighting, windows like black holes sucking in the light and twitches of queerly coloured curtains drawing eyes to minute cracks in the sealing of glass. The streets, so thankfully void of judging eyes and house proud flaunting, seemed like a neighbourhood of a fairytale. Sharp corners and faultless stretches of vegetation, paint and straight roads; an apparent dream of impeccability.
I took a deep breath, drawing in priced smoke with a bitter eagerness, almost feeling the days lost crawling under my skin in a well known embrace of unfounded youth. What did they say? We’re growing up, we’re feeling different – maybe a bit lost, maybe a bit confused. Maybe we’d suddenly like girls and feel the need to drink to defy our parents, to test out our boundaries – to be who we are. Those people, they never said anything about being broken. Feeling the constant loss and need and want of being alive, sensing each second go by like an hour of a different life – the drag of fatigue on bones and the snarls of judgement pushing on too wide eyes.
They didn’t mention the inexplicit sensation of misplaced nostalgia.
There never was a good time. It was always this drift and drag of society and order, these rules had always been here and always been placed. It was so hard to see law when you were six or even ten – exceptions were made for you and maybe that’s what’s wrong here, maybe it’s the adults. The elderly, the stuck in tradition racists and homophobes, the ones who can’t be changed moulding the ones that can be. And then the pied piper came and stole them all away.
But he never came. He got lost in the cities with the lights and the drugs and the pretty woman with eyelashes thick like scars and smiles red with mislead blood. Masks without masquerades and words without context, maybe a man with no meaning and little to give. Or maybe, maybe he can’t bear it. Can’t bear the silence and uniform and the control of pursed mouths and hard stares, maybe he tried and lost to the sounds of blue birds and lawnmowers.
Maybe we’re stuck in heaven.
I took a deep breath, drawing in priced smoke with a bitter eagerness, almost feeling the days lost crawling under my skin in a well known embrace of unfounded youth. What did they say? We’re growing up, we’re feeling different – maybe a bit lost, maybe a bit confused. Maybe we’d suddenly like girls and feel the need to drink to defy our parents, to test out our boundaries – to be who we are. Those people, they never said anything about being broken. Feeling the constant loss and need and want of being alive, sensing each second go by like an hour of a different life – the drag of fatigue on bones and the snarls of judgement pushing on too wide eyes.
They didn’t mention the inexplicit sensation of misplaced nostalgia.
There never was a good time. It was always this drift and drag of society and order, these rules had always been here and always been placed. It was so hard to see law when you were six or even ten – exceptions were made for you and maybe that’s what’s wrong here, maybe it’s the adults. The elderly, the stuck in tradition racists and homophobes, the ones who can’t be changed moulding the ones that can be. And then the pied piper came and stole them all away.
But he never came. He got lost in the cities with the lights and the drugs and the pretty woman with eyelashes thick like scars and smiles red with mislead blood. Masks without masquerades and words without context, maybe a man with no meaning and little to give. Or maybe, maybe he can’t bear it. Can’t bear the silence and uniform and the control of pursed mouths and hard stares, maybe he tried and lost to the sounds of blue birds and lawnmowers.
Maybe we’re stuck in heaven.
♠ ♠ ♠
Hello, comments to continue? c: