This is Garbage, Milk and I thought it fitted in nicely with the Harry Potter character, Wormrail.
Please r+r, I'll be eternally grateful
(and if you're nice, I'll review your stories, he he)
Waiting For you
I am milk
It startled him, the face the stared back at him, the empty eyes that
glazed over at the sight of his very own reflection, not quite
covering the haunted look that seemed to shimmer in his black,
bottomless pools, the lines that stood carved into his white,
sagging flesh, as though an inscription carved into stone, the
crooked smile he had grown so attached to over the years morphing
into a silent gasp as he stood entranced at the mirror, hypnotized
by the man that stood in front of him. The man he had become.
I am red hot ketchup
Sometimes Peter felt like he was on fire, as though he was burning
in the inside, as though a torch had been ignited, scratching at his
skin as though the flame inside him longed to escape, to burst in an
explosion of red and orange. It was quite ironic, really. Peter's
favourite colour always had been red.
And I am cool
Feeling an uncomfortable warmth spread through him, Peter took in a
deep shuddering breath, welcoming the ice that entered his body,
that froze his blood as it pounded through his veins, sending
spasmodic, stabbing sensations up his back, the tortuous pain
spreading up through his spine to his arms, where it finally met
his hands, numbing them. It's changing me, he realised, the ice
that had ledged inside his heart shattering, spreading splinters
across his inside, impaling him as though he had fallen into a pit
of glass. The ice...it's a part of me.
I'm as cold as ice.
Cool as the deep blue ocean
Deep. He was deep in his misery, half submerged in a liquid solution
of self-pity that had remained with him even after leaving Hogwarts,
even after leaving his friends. Of course, they weren't his friends
anymore. Peter always did have difficulty remembering that. Maybe it
was because, even after all this time, he didn't want to.
I am lost
He was lost, in a way. Lost between two worlds, leaning towards the
darkness that hung around him, that had become part of him, yet still
clinging to his past, to the time when he had laughed, and smiled
without any thought for the consequences, because, back then, there
hadn't been any. He had been free. He had had control. And now? He
didn't know the meaning of the word.
So I am cruel
And of course, he was cruel. He always had been. And he probably
always would be, unable to paint over the black streak that polluted
his aura, the cruel streak that when in times of desperation, or
doubt, he would turn to and that would answer him with tales of
darkness, tales of revenge which he would listen to, and then he'd
repeat them to those that would listen to him. No one ever listened
to him. So he told himself. Again and again, until finally, he
began to believe them.
But I'd be love and sweetness
Love. It and been a while of course. His master had no time for it.
And yet Peter still loved. Even without his heart. It was a love that
had gone unspoken for years, a love that remained untouched in the
delicate areas in his brain where Voldemort's hands of darkness
hadn't quite reached. They most certainly would with time, of course,
though. But Peter would still love. He would always love her.
Even though he had killed her.
If I had you
Oh how he remembered her. The way she had smiled at him, that
wonderful, dimple-educing smile that made her green eyes glisten.
Oh, how he had felt after receiving one of them. Like Christmas
had come early. And then, James came into the picture, and, as
always, Peter was pushed into the background, left to watch them
as they gazed at one another as though they saw the stars in one
each other's eyes, which back then Peter had told themselves
they probably did. Peter had never quite forgiven James for that.
But he'd always love Lily. Always.
I'm waiting,
I'm waiting for you
I'm waiting
I'm waiting for you
I am weak
Was he weak? He didn't know. He didn't know a lot anymore. Only what
his lord told him. He was weak once, long ago, unable to do what
would have come so easily to any other death eater. But then again,
he wasn't just a death eater. He was a servant. Nothing more,
nothing less.
But I am strong
Yes, he could be strong. He had proved that in giving a part of him
to his master. Of course, he should have been stronger, he knew that
know, but he could change. If the others could...then so could he.
I can use my tears to
Ah, his tears. Just drops of water yet so symbolic in their presence
it almost made Peter weep even more. But crying was weak. And he
couldn't be weak anymore.
Bring you home
Home. He didn't know what that was anymore. The only home he had now
was Voldemort's arms. And what kind of home is that?
I'm waiting,
He had waited,
I'm waiting for you
And he had waited
I'm waiting
And as long as he was alive
I'm waiting for you
He would wait -
For redemption
Please r+r, I'll be eternally grateful
(and if you're nice, I'll review your stories, he he)
Waiting For you
I am milk
It startled him, the face the stared back at him, the empty eyes that
glazed over at the sight of his very own reflection, not quite
covering the haunted look that seemed to shimmer in his black,
bottomless pools, the lines that stood carved into his white,
sagging flesh, as though an inscription carved into stone, the
crooked smile he had grown so attached to over the years morphing
into a silent gasp as he stood entranced at the mirror, hypnotized
by the man that stood in front of him. The man he had become.
I am red hot ketchup
Sometimes Peter felt like he was on fire, as though he was burning
in the inside, as though a torch had been ignited, scratching at his
skin as though the flame inside him longed to escape, to burst in an
explosion of red and orange. It was quite ironic, really. Peter's
favourite colour always had been red.
And I am cool
Feeling an uncomfortable warmth spread through him, Peter took in a
deep shuddering breath, welcoming the ice that entered his body,
that froze his blood as it pounded through his veins, sending
spasmodic, stabbing sensations up his back, the tortuous pain
spreading up through his spine to his arms, where it finally met
his hands, numbing them. It's changing me, he realised, the ice
that had ledged inside his heart shattering, spreading splinters
across his inside, impaling him as though he had fallen into a pit
of glass. The ice...it's a part of me.
I'm as cold as ice.
Cool as the deep blue ocean
Deep. He was deep in his misery, half submerged in a liquid solution
of self-pity that had remained with him even after leaving Hogwarts,
even after leaving his friends. Of course, they weren't his friends
anymore. Peter always did have difficulty remembering that. Maybe it
was because, even after all this time, he didn't want to.
I am lost
He was lost, in a way. Lost between two worlds, leaning towards the
darkness that hung around him, that had become part of him, yet still
clinging to his past, to the time when he had laughed, and smiled
without any thought for the consequences, because, back then, there
hadn't been any. He had been free. He had had control. And now? He
didn't know the meaning of the word.
So I am cruel
And of course, he was cruel. He always had been. And he probably
always would be, unable to paint over the black streak that polluted
his aura, the cruel streak that when in times of desperation, or
doubt, he would turn to and that would answer him with tales of
darkness, tales of revenge which he would listen to, and then he'd
repeat them to those that would listen to him. No one ever listened
to him. So he told himself. Again and again, until finally, he
began to believe them.
But I'd be love and sweetness
Love. It and been a while of course. His master had no time for it.
And yet Peter still loved. Even without his heart. It was a love that
had gone unspoken for years, a love that remained untouched in the
delicate areas in his brain where Voldemort's hands of darkness
hadn't quite reached. They most certainly would with time, of course,
though. But Peter would still love. He would always love her.
Even though he had killed her.
If I had you
Oh how he remembered her. The way she had smiled at him, that
wonderful, dimple-educing smile that made her green eyes glisten.
Oh, how he had felt after receiving one of them. Like Christmas
had come early. And then, James came into the picture, and, as
always, Peter was pushed into the background, left to watch them
as they gazed at one another as though they saw the stars in one
each other's eyes, which back then Peter had told themselves
they probably did. Peter had never quite forgiven James for that.
But he'd always love Lily. Always.
I'm waiting,
I'm waiting for you
I'm waiting
I'm waiting for you
I am weak
Was he weak? He didn't know. He didn't know a lot anymore. Only what
his lord told him. He was weak once, long ago, unable to do what
would have come so easily to any other death eater. But then again,
he wasn't just a death eater. He was a servant. Nothing more,
nothing less.
But I am strong
Yes, he could be strong. He had proved that in giving a part of him
to his master. Of course, he should have been stronger, he knew that
know, but he could change. If the others could...then so could he.
I can use my tears to
Ah, his tears. Just drops of water yet so symbolic in their presence
it almost made Peter weep even more. But crying was weak. And he
couldn't be weak anymore.
Bring you home
Home. He didn't know what that was anymore. The only home he had now
was Voldemort's arms. And what kind of home is that?
I'm waiting,
He had waited,
I'm waiting for you
And he had waited
I'm waiting
And as long as he was alive
I'm waiting for you
He would wait -
For redemption