if only my mind would quiet down
maybe the world would be mine
or i could just rest, even for a little while
sink into my familiar and catch up,
i could put my feet up and sit a spell
linger here, where my heart lives, see, i haven't(more) needed it lately
but a visit would be nice, inhale every word I've missed
roll each one around my mouth,
let them linger on my tongue
then i can digest
all I've missed while my soul's gone missing
until then i hunt
my lighthouse in the distance right here,
where my heart lives(less)
the lonely bones of the world,
the frayed edges of civility,
creepcrawling back into nothing.
the silence, the drained veins
(more) of the world,
subways muffled by weeds,
train stations cloaked with dirt.
i am nothing but a ghost
a memory of nothing that will ever be
they told us to quiet down.
they got their wish.(less)
don't tell them.
talk to the paper and wear it thin and bleed it through with ink and coffee stains,
but don't tell anyone you checked out your absolute favorite book from the library (again) or you skipped breakfast because you were stressed.
see what you don't realize(more) is people care, but not enough, really, to listen to you
when you whine about the newest music or the scratchiness of your gym uniform.
'oh that's good honey,' when you bring home an a on your math test
but your mom doesn't want to know why you're bouncing on your heels
(it's the boy!! from aforementioned math class! he asked if you could tutor him tuesdays in the library)
and omg please please don't do that-
that, the head-bopping, bone-shaking thing where you
let loose and scrape your hair out of a ponytail and sing loudly in your room
people are trying to sleep, you know.
i have an idea for you. why don't you
tap it all out on your typewriter on a rainy afternoon, or alternatively,
whisper your secrets into your pillow before you go to sleep.
be normal, sane, functional in public; only your lived-in hideaways will see the best and worst of you
so the rest of the world gets the cookie-cutter girl it expects.
how does that sound?...
oh, pipe down, there is in fact a loophole:
you can, if you're feeling reckless, confide in me.(less)
The two of you would be friends.
You both quiet down to listen to the sound of records spinning,
Know what it's like to get abandoned in a fight,
Breathe smoke like it's air and air like it's wasting away,
Kinda like you,
And yet you both like to(more) give thanks to the universe and like to look at girls with curious eyes. Like you never quite believe the words that come out of their mouths. You know that their feelings would eventually bleed into their lies.
My feelings. My mouth. No lies.
Neither of you got what you wanted;
Maybe you should switched places.
Eternal light drifting over the beautiful bay for one of you
And only my love for the other.(less)
The noise was unbearable. I couldn't take it anymore. So constant, and restricting. I started to question my every breath, my every movement, my everything. The tiniest movement spoke unnecessary volumes, yet remained inaudible to many. Oh, how I wanted it to stop, to end, there and then. Maybe if(more) I spoke gently, and utter the words 'quiet down', it would know, somewhere in its unconscious mind, that I've had enough.(less)
Occasionally, Roy would wish desperately for a volume control on Edward. There had to be a way to create one, because when Edward got going about whatever pissed him off this week (the book in the library being missing, the PFCs snickering at him again, cabbage, and on and(more) on) the volume steadily increased until someone, usually Alphonse, could distract him.
There were other times, however, that the volume ... didn't quite matter as much. Those particular circumstances, though, the best way to shut Edward up (if he needed shutting up) involved shoving a pillow in his face - or better, just turning him over so he could make those thoroughly obscene noises straight into the mattress.
Roy had no idea that all those years of perfecting his poker face would be ultimately used to keep his composure at work when his own train of thought derailed into off-the-clock territory. He swallowed and stared at the report in his hands, trying very hard not to return to the thought of Edward moaning into his arms.
Edward stormed up to the desk and glared at Roy. "What, am I BOTHERING you, Mustang?"
Roy's eyes shot up, met Edward's, and just like that everything clicked over. Roy glanced significantly to the door, which wasn't closed completely. DAMN it.
Edward followed his gaze to the door, and then looked back at Roy. "At the office? Damn, are you ever NOT horn-"
He was cut off by Roy rising to his feet, grabbing Edward by the front of his shirt and kissing him awkwardly, tilted over the desk. Edward's eyes got huge, but he didn't jerk away until Roy released him.
"Yes," Roy rumbled, his eyes unusually bright. "At the office."
"Oh," Edward said faintly - and he staggered back to close the door.(less)
My throat is hoarse.
My ears are bombarded by laughter and shouting.
This is not how it's supposed to work.
I am the teacher, you are the students, but I try to never treat you like lesser people. I want to hear your voices, just not all at on(more)ce. Why can't you respect that need to stop and listen to the empty air and humming of florescent lights to disappear into the world of ink before you? Why can't you respect me?
"Because YOLO that's why!" you cry out surrounded by a chorus of laughter that deafens my rage.
Why can't you respect yourself and the minds you squander on a society's perimeters that care nothing for you? The constant buzz of phones and wires, blaring signs that flash by so fast I feel like Guy Montag watching the disparaging images flying by. You all surround yourselves with this world, immersed in it, but I can't help but wonder: do you do this because you were born into this hazy world of light and sound or is it that you're afraid? Afraid that if you were to find yourself suddenly surrounded by silence, alone with your thoughts, that you would actually be utterly... alone?(less)
You make it sound so straightforward
Like you can just forget
By flipping a switch
Like a light
On and off
(more) But it's not easy is it?
In actuality it is quite problematic
When the voices
Are from your past
And the war zone
Is a field of your own memories. (less)
Riley sat up with a start and blinked twice. He swiveled his head around, trying to take in where he was. It came back quickly. Twisting his neck to his left, he looked up at the at the large Buick that had just struck him. The victim sized up his predator.
He(more) quickly got his spindly legs under him, two black, straw-like appendages that somehow held up his bulbous body. He shook his tail and wings; a few feathers were jostled loose, soft and quiet down floating to the asphalt. Two flaps and he was on top of the hood where he could see the driver, a sickened and panicked man of advanced age. Riley waddled toward the windshield as the man's eyes became fixated on him.
Riley was not happy, and he was also a goose.
Their eyes met, and Riley wanted nothing more than to express his rage and pain, to make the man feel what Riley had just felt. But his expression softened. After a few moments, the thought that this was an accident took hold in Riley's goose brain, and sympathy was the correct course of action. The man, becoming less panicked and more curious, held the bird's stare all the while, until the overwhelming sensation he felt was not fear of this indestructable bird mounting his car but forgiveness. It was nearly a religious experience, one the man would have discussed in church were he someone who didn't have to be forced into following his wife to Sunday mass for the past 40 years. For him, this would simply be interesting.
Riley, tired of this forgiving now, nodded his good head. The man nodded back. The goose flapped his slightly-damaged wings, jumped, and flew off to recuperate once again.(less)
Tommy sat down at the table, where his brother was glaring at him.
"How did you know..." he hissed through pearly white teeth that certainly weren't his.
"Command Slee'nyarin's eyes are hazel. Yours are green."
"Like anyone could know the difference," Leonard huffed.
"Oh, I think that's a difference(more) a lot of people know. Just because you don't pay attention to things like eye color..."
"Well, anyway, I don't think it's a big deal. The guy I'm supposed to meet here doesn't know her very well." He sighed, and the short blonde hair of his disguise shook slightly.
"Yeah, but some of these other missions, you're supposed to be people's family, close friends, lovers. They're going to know if you so much as get a birthmark or three wrong. You've got to learn to be more careful."
"I'm trying," Leonard said, taking a sip of his coffee, "but I can't possibly notice everything."
"Well, you're gonna have to. This mission is too important."
Leonard sighed again and looked at his brother with a puzzled expression. "Not to us, not really. Surely you know that by now. We're hired hands. Hired, MUTILATED hands. Haven't you talked to Sara lately? Or done even more than talk, maybe?"
"I haven't," Tommy responded, honestly - for once. He stared at his brother. "Why..."
"Well, I dunno, she managed to talk CARLO into bed, surely she can talk anyone..."
"Naturally, that's what you'd take from hearing that those two COMBINED THEIR POWERS."
"I don't think I'm the only one. Not like their power was a big deal, anyway."
"I think you're jealous. Of all things to be jealous of, Man of 1,000 Faces..."
"I'd never use my powers that way." Leonard snapped.
But his brother was partly right.
He WAS jealous.
not of HER.(less)