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avalonisburning's Journal
Created on 2005-10-19 07:05:28 (#8582608), last updated 2005-12-14
89 comments received, 114 comments posted
Basic Account [Gift]
4 Journal Entries, 0 Tags, 0 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 3 Userpics
Basic Info| Name: | A Broken Winter |
|---|
BioIt bleeds no further,
Locked in a cavern it once called home.
The darkness sits, arms overlapped,
Legs crossed.
Loving trembles are folded and snapped shut,
Tucked away in hidden places
Where the light can no longer find them.
A basin for your troubles.
A sanctuary for your thoughts.
Morning suicide.
Afternoon tea.
Forest fire in B-Minor.
He falls to the ground, arms extended.
Helping hands contain no warmth.
The dying embers of a burning heart.
A voice thick with drink.
Fingers laced with pain.
Markings of the action blazed
Across the flesh
In tragic lines.
He hates the way he loves him,
But needs him just the same.
Don't knock that over.
Don't walk away.
That's the most beautiful
Thing I've seen
All day.
Disproportionate; it swells,
Gorging on the bitterness that feeds its birth.
Lying on his back; bandaged and mixed.
The words hang from his throat in
Suspended carousels.
Smoke drifts off the gun,
Spinning upwards with the rubble and the ashes.
Tip over the brink and fall back to the source.
Flicker in the flames.
No time. No regrets. No more.
Locked in a cavern it once called home.
The darkness sits, arms overlapped,
Legs crossed.
Loving trembles are folded and snapped shut,
Tucked away in hidden places
Where the light can no longer find them.
A basin for your troubles.
A sanctuary for your thoughts.
Morning suicide.
Afternoon tea.
Forest fire in B-Minor.
He falls to the ground, arms extended.
Helping hands contain no warmth.
The dying embers of a burning heart.
A voice thick with drink.
Fingers laced with pain.
Markings of the action blazed
Across the flesh
In tragic lines.
He hates the way he loves him,
But needs him just the same.
Don't knock that over.
Don't walk away.
That's the most beautiful
Thing I've seen
All day.
Disproportionate; it swells,
Gorging on the bitterness that feeds its birth.
Lying on his back; bandaged and mixed.
The words hang from his throat in
Suspended carousels.
Smoke drifts off the gun,
Spinning upwards with the rubble and the ashes.
Tip over the brink and fall back to the source.
Flicker in the flames.
No time. No regrets. No more.
ConnectInterests (1):
not even gravity prevails
External Services:
 | avalonisburning@livejournal.com | |
 | abrokenwinter |
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