Rating: It's nothing you can't show your 12-year-old kid. Something like T because you'll only be depressed by it, and mentions of self-destruction, but that's only to follow the mood of this song—oh and erm, the f-word said 2 times—DAVEY MAKES THESE LYRICS... I only have the plot.
Summary: Killed by the weakness, but forced to return. Turn it off.
Death of Seasons.
Of late, it's harder
Just to go outside, to
leave this dead space
with hatred, so alive
Writhing with
sickness
thrown into banality, I decay.
Killed by the weakness,
but forced to return. Turn it off.
The blood poured down his wrist, tears trickled down his face. He sat upon the roof of a manor, dimly gazing at the stars that were littered on the fathomless sky. The teenager's eyes slid out of focus as his head rested against the tiles that boarded the house from hailstorms he feared most. They were of ice. Just like he. Just like his father.
The sky was warning its sadness with gray clouds over the navy midnight color. It was beautiful.
The beautiful that can never be captured in a photograph.
The beautiful that could never refract the tendrils of blood across his pale flesh.
I watch the stars as they fall from the sky
I
held the falling star and it wept for me, dying.
I feel the
falling stars encircle me, now as they cry
When he was a small boy, Draco found his mother's venomous red lipstick that pronounced blood and smeared it all over his lips, creating an utter mess. He proudly went up to his daddy, feeling very beautiful. However, once his daddy saw him, the man speechlessly gazed down at his son; his eyes did not compliment. They merely scorned and he dully told Draco to never do such a foolish thing again.
The boy left in shambles, crying sadly.
All he ever wanted was to be beautiful for daddy.
Out there so quickly, grows malignant
tribes.
Post human extinction excels unrecognized.
Feeling
surrounded,
So bored with mortality, I decay.
When he had turned fifteen, Draco snuck into his father's room and found the snake cane that Lucius carried with him at all times. He stood before a mirror and imitated his father, mimicking that perfect sneer and guiltless eyes. He then did something his father never did.
Draco smiled.
His face cracked, for he was the porcelain price and his father the ice king.
The mirror refracted what he didn't want. He had become his father.
Lucius found him standing before the mirror. He slapped his son and cursed him out for no reason, but the smell of whiskey was like a veil of flaws upon the still air.
All of this hatred, is fucking real
Draco asked Lucius whether he loved him. The older man smiled vaguely but said nothing. That night, however, he tied him down with leather straps and ground his way through nerve endings. He gagged his son with his hands and laughed that malevolent laugh. Lucius loved the look on Draco's lush face with every hard hit.
The pain stayed a current scar across the boy's skin. It was a brand of licking flames.
It read, "property of Lucius."
He tried to scrape it from his flesh but couldn't. It was a marring symbol, one that the naked eye alone could not see.
Too bad his emotions weren't an open door for all to enter.
I watch the stars they fall from the sky
I
held the falling star and it wept for me, dying
I feel the falling
stars encircle me, now as they cry
Draco watched the stars when he was eleven. He had stumbled home from Hogwarts and presented his father with the grades he received. They were good but not refined like the Malfoy had hoped for.
The words were an onslaught of insults and swears. Lucius made sure to keep his son's attention as he screamed, and the only way to know was to see the shimmer in those gray-blue eyes.
Lucius hated Draco's eyes' color. They were tinted with his mother; only a true Malfoy had the coldest, grayest eyes possible.
He was all Black and no Malfoy.
None at all.
But it won't be alright, despite what they say
Just
watch the stars tonight as they, as they, as they
disappear
disintegrate…
Draco went to Goyle's party when he was seventeen. That starless night all went gray as he drank his way to glory. As long as the shots and glasses and dirty pints kept coming in, Draco felt safe, for they detached him from the world and his feelings. He didn't want to feel. It was so disgusting to think that he had ever let a tear shed from his eyes, that he had ever screamed at walls for no reason at all. Everything was an outlet. He was just a dying soul.
That night, he grabbed a thirteen year old and made his way into a broom closet. Remembering how Lucius tied his wrists until they bled, he did the same to her and screamed in euphoria once he was buried within her, despite the girl's cries of pain.
She screamed and groaned in despair, and once he was fulfilled, Draco took out his wand and drunkenly laughed, "Avada Kedavra!"
He thinks that she was a Ravenclaw.
And I disintegrate. Cause this hate is fucking
real
And I hope to shade the world as stars go out and I
disintegrate.
Draco sat upon the roof, feeling the blood gushing out with every heartbeat. It gave a small squirt from the deep cut and he giggled dizzily, staggering, though he was sitting.
In a few moments' time, he had written his note and pinned it under the roof with a loose brick; Draco threw the quill, bottle of ink, and bloodstained knife to the ground. They all landed with a brilliant explosion and he laughed for the last time.
And then he jumped like a graceful bird diving, and when he landed next to the sliver of shining metal, bleeding ink and rumpled quill, the only thing distinguishable in the gory mess was writing upon his heart, laced with silver.
It said, "CUT HERE."
End.