Hey, look, for once, Aj… the Bloody has made the effort to do something unnecessary, called a disclaimer, but as this bumbling idiot has something to claim, and nothing to say in particular, again, well, here's a CLAIMER! Haven't seen this often, have you? CRUEL READER, YOU SCARE ME.
Claimer: I claim this poem as my own, because it is. I wrote it all by me onesy, (you'll be able to do that when you're a big kid). I've composed it in a review, with absolutely no purpose, but then I erased it. Ah, me… I do not own Draco Malfoy, though, because I'm obviously not J.K. Rowling. Hey wait, no, it IS me. I'm J.K. Rowling! Seriously, I'm not, and no one having an IQ superior to 0 would think I am. (hint-hint: If you think I'm the author of Harry Potter, well, you're a fucking moron, besides being an imbecile, and a sorry loser) This is the poem, read it whole, then read the whole story, then leave a whole review, then have a whole cookie, or doughnut.
Who could tell when the heart stops beating,
Who could tell when everything stops living,
When everything around fades away, an unclear image of what has been, Nevermore to be; lost in a forgotten lie,
Days of cold as the wind sweeps by.
Who can tell as I lay down to die,
Who can tell this is the end of all things,
Who can tell when there's nothing left,
Who can tell as I lay down to die,
Who can tell I will never be back.
Who could tell when the heart stops beating,
Yeah, who could have told when all the things I enjoyed doing appeared so boring to me, everything I did was the same old routine, nothing was new, nothing could get me hooked up, it was all the same. Who could even tell when this all started, when everything became useless to me, when my heart stopped beating for a passion, when loneliness and boredom submerged me, when my life became a waste. Who could have told? Who even noticed?
Who could tell when everything stops living,
Indeed, who could have told I was dead on the inside, not living, just being, through long days, not even thinking, no form of will left, just breathing, a soulless corpse, rotting in the inside, just barely waiting to fall apart. No one could have told, too occupied that they were with their boring world.
When everything around fades away, an unclear image of what has been, Nevermore to be; lost in a forgotten lie,
Days of cold as the wind sweeps by.
My world faded around me, it was all the same colours, the same people, the same events, seen through my eyes, flushed with icy, uncomfortable tears. The mask had exploded, no one had seen where the truth lay next to the lie. Where each one ended, where each one finished. It's cold around me, I feel nothing but the cold. Daylight has gone, I'm all alone, frozen to the very core, of my broken mind. The wind howls, trying to cover the emptiness, to sweep away the pain. It fails, and time passes. So nobody remembers. The veil between sanity and insanity has gone in shreds. I'm not even the shadow of my old self.
Who can tell as I lay down to die,
I am laying down, in hopes of dying. The cold wind just brushes upon my body, my carcass, the fragile shell protecting me from insanity, my body broken, the lies fluttering all around. Where is it you go to when all hope has withered and faded in the unreal cold, the cold of Death, swooping down below towards me. I can see its shadow, for it lurks each time I inhale, with difficulty, each time I remember it is necessary. Who can tell I'm grasping nothing, desperately clutching air, to keep me from falling down below, in the open, where it is colder where my shattered worlds will clash towards me, when reality meets the nightmare. Nobody can tell. Nobody is even watching.
Who can tell this is the end of all things,
Who can tell when there's nothing left,
The shards of my broken world will fall towards me, like pieces of glass piercing all the things I've ever been. All the things I'm struggling to stay, all the things I'll never be anymore. All the things I'm fighting for, before I fell, they'll be broken. All will end as I collapse; nothing will remain, as the vortex of insanity gets at me. The cold wind will sweep it all away. No proof that my tortured self ever existed. No memory of me will subsist. Will somebody ever tell, will somebody ever know that I once stood there, brave and bold, before it reached me? Will somebody remember who I was before being possessed by unnatural forces, before insanity directed my every breath? Could anybody remember, even now, what my name used to be?
Who can tell as I lay down to die,
Who can tell I will never be back.
Who can even remember I'm still here, now? Who can even tell I'll soon be gone, and I will not return? For I cannot choose what will happen. It just happens. Who can tell as I shiver from cold, a cold that isn't even existing in their world, but one that is overwhelming me, who can tell I'm prepared to leave? It won't necessarily be better. It won't. Who can tell it soon will be the end, and that nothing will go back, be as it used to be? Who can tell it is too late to help me? When I fell, it was already too late. Who can tell that I'm always cold, suffering from my insanity, and resigned, accepting fate? Who can tell it's just a matter of seconds until I totally lose myself? Who can tell as I lay down to die/ Who can tell I will never be back./ I know I'm lost. I know I'll die, and won't return. I know it. They don't. They couldn't tell the difference. They won't notice it, as I already see it is too late. Who can tell it is swallowing me whole, and the pain, I just can't bear? Who can tell as I lay down to die,/ Who can tell I will never be back./ No one can tell. No one has been looking down towards me. As I fade, I know I am all alone.
Again, me, because you couldn't last a day without me, and my comments you hold so dearly… Ah, yes, I shall kick my ego right in the groin (if my ego's a guy) if ever I have time (or if I ever feel like it, which is rather unlikely to happen, in this life, anyway)… Right, now for this perilous author note you've all been waiting for. Ahem. Yes, Draco, my precious (Warning: watching too much of The Lord Of The Rings: The Two Towers and The Return Of The King may cause permanent damage to your brainy (grey matter in the skull, as says my word processor. Brilliant. Applaud.) fluids. See what happened to me, my precioussss? We losts many IQ points, precious, did we?), so for Draco, he has become insane, a premiere, (Applaud.) and it now seems he's becoming more and more depressed each day. Not to worry, he dies every time… (You don't have to laugh. I understand myself) Tell me when does Peter Jackson appear in each of the LOTR movies (he does) and win a cookie or a doughnut! Thankx for reading my… rambling (?) No, preciousss, it wasn't rambling, it was just… pointless…
-Ajariel the Bloody- (still not dead yet)