She's addicted to nicotine patches
She's addicted to nicotine patches
She's afraid of the light in the dark
6:58 are you sure where my spark is
Here
Here
Here
-
It was cold. Cold and dark. Frodo hadn't bothered to start a fire or
light a candle. He didn't want that. The dark felt somehow comfortable,
yet at the same time it was malefic. It was as though it had taken up a
personality of its own. Frodo's only company now. And yet he was still
utterly alone and he hated it.
-
She's convinced she could hold back a glacier
But she couldn't keep Baby alive
Doubting if there's a woman in there somewhere
Here
-
The floorboards of Bag End creaked slightly as he walked. He paused in
front of a window, it was snowing outside. He shivered and walked into the
study where he would do little more than stare blankly into the empty
hearth. It seemed that he was doing that more often these days, or nights,
sometimes he couldn't figure out what time it was.
Somehow it seemed as though a part of him had gone with Bilbo as he left.
He didn't feel like he was completely here anymore. No, he felt a gaping
void inside himself, not only for Bilbo but for his parents as well. Being
left again, it was opening all the wounds that he held within his heart.
He felt as though he was lost in a whirlwind. He was lost and twisted and
he couldn't get back.
-
You say you don't want it again
And again but you don't really mean it
You say you don't want it
This circus we're in
But you don't you don't really mean it
You don't really mean it
If the Divine master paly is perfection
Maybe next I'll give Judas a try
Trusting my soul to the ice cream assassin
Here
-
His hand found the handle of a knife. Long before he remembered being
alone in Brandy Hall and using a knife. It had felt good, reminding him
that he was more than a ghostly specter. He remembered cutting too deeply
once and watching the blood flow freely, but they had come and they were
less interested in the way the blood ran on the floor, the way it pooled
making little patterns of its own. No, they had not been interested in
that at all.
-
You say you don't want it again
And again but you don't really mean it
You say you don't want it
This circus we're in
But you don't you don't really mean it
You don't really mean it
How may fates turn around in the overtime
Ballerinas that have fins that you'll never find
You thought that you were the bomb yeah
Well so did I
Say you don't want it
Say you don't want it
Say you don't want it again
And again but you don't really mean it
Say you don't want it
This circus we're in
But you don't you don't really mean it
You don't really mean it
-
The grip on the handle tightened in indecision. He had stopped for Bilbo.
It had hurt Bilbo to see him doing this to himself; he didn't want to hurt
Bilbo. The knife made a dull thud as it hit the floor and Frodo's eyes
followed it, staring as though it were some beast preparing to attack.
-
She's addicted to nicotine patches
She's afraid of the light in the dark
6:58 are you sure where my spark is
Here
Here
Here
-
Frodo lit a candle, a small one. You couldn't let too much light interfere
in the darkness. Its reflection danced on the knife's blade and Frodo
stared at mesmerized. The blade cut into his wrist with ease and he nearly
smiled against the tears in his eyes. It burned slightly, a wondrous
feeling amid the suffocating numbness.
The blood trickled over his pale arm, covering white scars that lined it.
It spilled over onto the floor and he watched it making its own little
patterns on the floor. The blood also reflected the candle. He was
beginning to feel slightly drowsy and he blew out the candle. You couldn't
let light interfere in the darkness.
()()()()()()()
Well, that was fun. I'm thinking of writing ficlets for a couple of Tori
Amos' songs. Oh yes, nearly forgot:
Disclaimer: I don't own Frodo, I don't own his candle, I don't own the
snow, and I don't own 'Spark' which is by Tori Amos.
She's addicted to nicotine patches
She's afraid of the light in the dark
6:58 are you sure where my spark is
Here
Here
Here
-
It was cold. Cold and dark. Frodo hadn't bothered to start a fire or
light a candle. He didn't want that. The dark felt somehow comfortable,
yet at the same time it was malefic. It was as though it had taken up a
personality of its own. Frodo's only company now. And yet he was still
utterly alone and he hated it.
-
She's convinced she could hold back a glacier
But she couldn't keep Baby alive
Doubting if there's a woman in there somewhere
Here
-
The floorboards of Bag End creaked slightly as he walked. He paused in
front of a window, it was snowing outside. He shivered and walked into the
study where he would do little more than stare blankly into the empty
hearth. It seemed that he was doing that more often these days, or nights,
sometimes he couldn't figure out what time it was.
Somehow it seemed as though a part of him had gone with Bilbo as he left.
He didn't feel like he was completely here anymore. No, he felt a gaping
void inside himself, not only for Bilbo but for his parents as well. Being
left again, it was opening all the wounds that he held within his heart.
He felt as though he was lost in a whirlwind. He was lost and twisted and
he couldn't get back.
-
You say you don't want it again
And again but you don't really mean it
You say you don't want it
This circus we're in
But you don't you don't really mean it
You don't really mean it
If the Divine master paly is perfection
Maybe next I'll give Judas a try
Trusting my soul to the ice cream assassin
Here
-
His hand found the handle of a knife. Long before he remembered being
alone in Brandy Hall and using a knife. It had felt good, reminding him
that he was more than a ghostly specter. He remembered cutting too deeply
once and watching the blood flow freely, but they had come and they were
less interested in the way the blood ran on the floor, the way it pooled
making little patterns of its own. No, they had not been interested in
that at all.
-
You say you don't want it again
And again but you don't really mean it
You say you don't want it
This circus we're in
But you don't you don't really mean it
You don't really mean it
How may fates turn around in the overtime
Ballerinas that have fins that you'll never find
You thought that you were the bomb yeah
Well so did I
Say you don't want it
Say you don't want it
Say you don't want it again
And again but you don't really mean it
Say you don't want it
This circus we're in
But you don't you don't really mean it
You don't really mean it
-
The grip on the handle tightened in indecision. He had stopped for Bilbo.
It had hurt Bilbo to see him doing this to himself; he didn't want to hurt
Bilbo. The knife made a dull thud as it hit the floor and Frodo's eyes
followed it, staring as though it were some beast preparing to attack.
-
She's addicted to nicotine patches
She's afraid of the light in the dark
6:58 are you sure where my spark is
Here
Here
Here
-
Frodo lit a candle, a small one. You couldn't let too much light interfere
in the darkness. Its reflection danced on the knife's blade and Frodo
stared at mesmerized. The blade cut into his wrist with ease and he nearly
smiled against the tears in his eyes. It burned slightly, a wondrous
feeling amid the suffocating numbness.
The blood trickled over his pale arm, covering white scars that lined it.
It spilled over onto the floor and he watched it making its own little
patterns on the floor. The blood also reflected the candle. He was
beginning to feel slightly drowsy and he blew out the candle. You couldn't
let light interfere in the darkness.
()()()()()()()
Well, that was fun. I'm thinking of writing ficlets for a couple of Tori
Amos' songs. Oh yes, nearly forgot:
Disclaimer: I don't own Frodo, I don't own his candle, I don't own the
snow, and I don't own 'Spark' which is by Tori Amos.