"Where were you when I was lonesome,
locked away with freezing cold.
Someone flying only stolen
I can tell this light so old.
I don't want to swim the oceans..
I don't want to fight the tide.
I don't want to swim forever.
When it's cold.. I'd like to die.
What was that, my sweet, sweet nothing?
I can hear you through the fog.
If I holler let me go..
If I falter, let me know..
I don't want to swim the oceans..
I don't want to fight the tide.
I don't want to swim forever..
When it's cold. I'd like to die.
I don't want to swim forever!
I don't want to fight the tide.
I don't want to swim the oceans..
When it's cold, I'd like to die."
-"When it's cold I'd like to die"
Mobysongs, Moby
"When it's Cold, I'd Like to Die"
Aphrodisia Dreams
A/N: I have tried to revamp this story in order to create a better flow(because I wrote it about two years ago!). If you have any suggestions, let me know! (Woo. I'm a poet and didn't know it.) I am still battling with my habit of run-on sentences, so that is forever a problem. Please read and review, I would greatly appreciate any possible input!!
Silky gatherings fell from the withering bud in solemn defeat. The once vibrant hues had dulled, falling to lurid grays and ebon corners where the water ceased to flow. Wasted leaves had become dry and bitter in it's neglect of life, so that they too had fallen into lady death's contemptuous embrace. Like a wind chime it spun between the pair of slightly pudgy fingers, each angle nostalgically observed. Violet leather of the pedals had bled cold brown from the harsh winter and thus meagerly retained it's juvenile beauty. Never the less, the dutiful holder found the thing exquisite in his childish fantasies. The boy still noticed its glamour that had aged gracefully away from the unforgivable elements. He wondered with chaste affection how such a lovely item could be spoiled by the simple kiss of frost. He pondered why it could not be strong upon its roots and why power was lost by the negligent foot of elderly winter. A gasp of mild anguish escaped the child's lips as, during his relentless spinning of the little flower, his plaything damaged itself. Delicate stem gave way in despair and surrender, so as to fall haplessly to the ground. The petals split into shards of magenta glass. Large, chocolate toned eyes examined the mere conclusion of stem that remained in his grasp. He sadly deposited the bud upon it's other half. With pallid digits once again tucked safely into sable garments, attention lingered upon his funeral exhibit with bittersweet fondness, if only to divert from the bleak surroundings that engulfed his form. Reality soon bombarded his fantasy of distraction as a forager bird squawked from outside. Perhaps it was circling him? Perchance the creature knew that bereavement was seducing his air and playing succubus to his sheltered home. The call of the scavenger animal pierced his ears like daggers before he stood with unnerved impatience.
As he took his steps across the bleak room, tennis shoes moaned against the wooden planks of floor. The boards were already discolored from hungry termites and thus with every footfall, clouds of phantom dust would rise from the base of the room like ghosts.
After he ceased his journey, a flinch invaded delicate features like a plague. An ample hand was able to rest upon the emaciated and fragile shoulder of the other. He felt himself tremble out of his own grief when his action received no response, but continued in his macabre ritual so that he would feel no penitence in his departure. He quickly gave a clumsy and unanticipated bend at the waist so ashen lips could brush against the callous flesh in affection. Yet another frown of expected disappointment crossed his features as such action received no reaction, and thus turned to place another unsullied kiss upon the opposite, lined forehead. A sigh pierced his lips, as his stature was uncurled and gaze cast downwards towards the pair of older creatures that lapsed humble and stoic within their own dreams.
Sometimes he would dwell within those imaginings, knowing that he could be with them for only an instant before unforgiving rays of dawn broke his fantasies. The boy also knew that the two were together in those thoughts, or at least that is what he preferred to envision. He shuddered to try and depict them lost within the shells that now acted as brain. One last glance over his shoulder at the snapped flower by his chair and the rest of its brothers were lifted into his arms. Dead leaves from the bouquet cried down upon his arms while a fresh bundle of ruby tinted roses were placed in the windowsill. He would always come back to bring life into the dead room before it was sucked away into the dark fissure of his surroundings. The burning sting of teardrops threatened to obscure his vision as he submissively turned to leave, free hand grasping the latch to the door while strained voice echoed out, unheard, into the hush
"I love you, mum and dad."
And he could almost dream that they had reciprocated his sentiments with merry smile and giddy laugh. But he couldn't. It was death that lingered in this room, but death's chess game refused to end. But even this lingering was cold, so in fact that he only desired to slip a warm blanket over himself. To provide falsified warmth. And with a small shake of his head, he pulled the latch and stepped out into the generic ivory hallways of Saint Mungo's, dead flowers thrown despairingly upon the smooth tile before he walked off in a hurry, tears burning his eyes like needles.
But, it was still so cold; the air that frosted his lungs and lusted for carnal premonition of his visit. The cinema eternally would spark inside his brain like a picture show. So that he could not forget and passive reprieve would forever refuse to arrive for his aid.
Yet he still wondered what could cause such beauty to be crushed – like the flower. Evil winter fell upon them, entrapping them forever within his arctic grip. They could never be melted from such a prison. But he would always visit them, showing such a love towards unseeing eyes.
center
"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."
Revelations 21:4
locked away with freezing cold.
Someone flying only stolen
I can tell this light so old.
I don't want to swim the oceans..
I don't want to fight the tide.
I don't want to swim forever.
When it's cold.. I'd like to die.
What was that, my sweet, sweet nothing?
I can hear you through the fog.
If I holler let me go..
If I falter, let me know..
I don't want to swim the oceans..
I don't want to fight the tide.
I don't want to swim forever..
When it's cold. I'd like to die.
I don't want to swim forever!
I don't want to fight the tide.
I don't want to swim the oceans..
When it's cold, I'd like to die."
-"When it's cold I'd like to die"
Mobysongs, Moby
"When it's Cold, I'd Like to Die"
Aphrodisia Dreams
A/N: I have tried to revamp this story in order to create a better flow(because I wrote it about two years ago!). If you have any suggestions, let me know! (Woo. I'm a poet and didn't know it.) I am still battling with my habit of run-on sentences, so that is forever a problem. Please read and review, I would greatly appreciate any possible input!!
Silky gatherings fell from the withering bud in solemn defeat. The once vibrant hues had dulled, falling to lurid grays and ebon corners where the water ceased to flow. Wasted leaves had become dry and bitter in it's neglect of life, so that they too had fallen into lady death's contemptuous embrace. Like a wind chime it spun between the pair of slightly pudgy fingers, each angle nostalgically observed. Violet leather of the pedals had bled cold brown from the harsh winter and thus meagerly retained it's juvenile beauty. Never the less, the dutiful holder found the thing exquisite in his childish fantasies. The boy still noticed its glamour that had aged gracefully away from the unforgivable elements. He wondered with chaste affection how such a lovely item could be spoiled by the simple kiss of frost. He pondered why it could not be strong upon its roots and why power was lost by the negligent foot of elderly winter. A gasp of mild anguish escaped the child's lips as, during his relentless spinning of the little flower, his plaything damaged itself. Delicate stem gave way in despair and surrender, so as to fall haplessly to the ground. The petals split into shards of magenta glass. Large, chocolate toned eyes examined the mere conclusion of stem that remained in his grasp. He sadly deposited the bud upon it's other half. With pallid digits once again tucked safely into sable garments, attention lingered upon his funeral exhibit with bittersweet fondness, if only to divert from the bleak surroundings that engulfed his form. Reality soon bombarded his fantasy of distraction as a forager bird squawked from outside. Perhaps it was circling him? Perchance the creature knew that bereavement was seducing his air and playing succubus to his sheltered home. The call of the scavenger animal pierced his ears like daggers before he stood with unnerved impatience.
As he took his steps across the bleak room, tennis shoes moaned against the wooden planks of floor. The boards were already discolored from hungry termites and thus with every footfall, clouds of phantom dust would rise from the base of the room like ghosts.
After he ceased his journey, a flinch invaded delicate features like a plague. An ample hand was able to rest upon the emaciated and fragile shoulder of the other. He felt himself tremble out of his own grief when his action received no response, but continued in his macabre ritual so that he would feel no penitence in his departure. He quickly gave a clumsy and unanticipated bend at the waist so ashen lips could brush against the callous flesh in affection. Yet another frown of expected disappointment crossed his features as such action received no reaction, and thus turned to place another unsullied kiss upon the opposite, lined forehead. A sigh pierced his lips, as his stature was uncurled and gaze cast downwards towards the pair of older creatures that lapsed humble and stoic within their own dreams.
Sometimes he would dwell within those imaginings, knowing that he could be with them for only an instant before unforgiving rays of dawn broke his fantasies. The boy also knew that the two were together in those thoughts, or at least that is what he preferred to envision. He shuddered to try and depict them lost within the shells that now acted as brain. One last glance over his shoulder at the snapped flower by his chair and the rest of its brothers were lifted into his arms. Dead leaves from the bouquet cried down upon his arms while a fresh bundle of ruby tinted roses were placed in the windowsill. He would always come back to bring life into the dead room before it was sucked away into the dark fissure of his surroundings. The burning sting of teardrops threatened to obscure his vision as he submissively turned to leave, free hand grasping the latch to the door while strained voice echoed out, unheard, into the hush
"I love you, mum and dad."
And he could almost dream that they had reciprocated his sentiments with merry smile and giddy laugh. But he couldn't. It was death that lingered in this room, but death's chess game refused to end. But even this lingering was cold, so in fact that he only desired to slip a warm blanket over himself. To provide falsified warmth. And with a small shake of his head, he pulled the latch and stepped out into the generic ivory hallways of Saint Mungo's, dead flowers thrown despairingly upon the smooth tile before he walked off in a hurry, tears burning his eyes like needles.
But, it was still so cold; the air that frosted his lungs and lusted for carnal premonition of his visit. The cinema eternally would spark inside his brain like a picture show. So that he could not forget and passive reprieve would forever refuse to arrive for his aid.
Yet he still wondered what could cause such beauty to be crushed – like the flower. Evil winter fell upon them, entrapping them forever within his arctic grip. They could never be melted from such a prison. But he would always visit them, showing such a love towards unseeing eyes.
center
"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."
Revelations 21:4