Melinda!

Okay, so now you get a love poem that I wrote from the point of view of a guy... I know. Odd. Anyhoo. I was trying my hand at something shakespearean.
The result is... interesting. This was written a year ago about and I didn't really think about posting it on here but today I felt I needed some upgrading.

Forbidden

Her eyes in which I sink, her hair a veil she hides behind,
Her lips the lock to the words I long to hear her say.
Aloof, unattainable, mysterious, undefined,
She is the dusk, the dawn, the night and break of day.

As I wait for the moment my lips will touch her hand,
The hand that is gloved, concealing the secrets of her skin.
I wait for her prescence, her shadow, pleasure so bland,
Knowing yet that t'is a priviledge I had to win.

I long to hear her sigh, to see a blush upon her chee,
I live for the moment my eyes will meet her own.
This sweet torment, this love I cannot speak...
Can it be that I am meant to suffer it alone?

Tsatsam!! And tada. Tata as well.
(howls with laughter for no good reason.)

Val 2

Voila, j'espere que t'es contente, Valou!!

Laisse moi

Une larme je m'inspire
D'un seul de tes regards
Je vis un seul soupir
Reflet dans un miroir
Un seul battement d'aile
Cheveux dans le vent
Un moment éternel
Revient-moi je t'attends
Caresse furtive, cachée
La lumière d'un sourire
Emotion oubliée
Je vis, laisse moi mourrir.

Laisse moi une seule image
Laisse moi un seul regret
Juste un simple mirage
Laisse moi seulement t'aimer.

Et voila... comme tu le vois deux poèmes qui se ressemble pas mal! C'etait sur le même thème et le même garçon de toute façon, donc c'est pas etonnant!

For Val... coz she wants something french...

Un Seul Regard

Comprendre un seul regard,
Un seul instant, souffrir,
A jamais ton visage,
Gravé dans mes souvenirs.

Laissez couler mes larmes,
Joyaux dans leur écrin,
Beauté figée d'un ange,
Du présent incertain.

La tombe d'une seule mémoire,
Offrir une seule prière,
Visage dans un miroir,
Dans l'ombre, une seule lumière.

Paroles d'un souvenir,
Regard, éternité...
Laissez les m'envahir,
Laissez les me briser.

Les rêves d'un seul instant,
Les regrets du passé,
S'envole avec le vent,
Je ne peux qu'oublier.

Testing, testing

DELETED as per a justified request

The Five, first chapter, prologue?

Crowded halls. Teachers preparing their lessons in the lounge. A sudden buzz of voices, the escalating noise level throwing off their concentration. A young man running late for his practice, ramming into people, making them exclaim in surprise, but he has no time to offer an apology. Can’t get kicked off the team, not my fault, she was drunk again. Breath sawing in and out of tired lungs, the squeak of sneakers on polished wood, boys running from one side of a basketball court to another as he quietly slips through the door. Their coach, frowning at the late arrival, wondering if his team is fast enough to win the coming match. A cheerleader, who should be in class by now, watching her boyfriend train. Gawd, I hadn’t noticed the captain had gotten so buff. She turns away from the boy she came to see to admire the muscles glistening with sweat of the young man running next to him. Her friend, annoyed, waits by the door. Always has to be about her, thinks she’s irresistible. We all know she’ll drop him soon as she sees someone cuter, so why play the charade? A boy with glasses watches the brunette in her short cheerleading outfit, wearing an enamored look. She knows he’s there. He knows she’ll never take a second look at him, but envious thoughts fly through his mind anyway. Maybe she’ll break up with her boyfriend. Maybe he’ll cheat on her, and then I’ll be there to comfort her. A nondescript student jostles him, his books fall on the floor. Sorrry, man , but I’m in a hurry right now. Worry because he’s been summoned to the principal’s office. Ignoring the reprimanding stare boring into his back, he hurries across the hall, towards the door that will let him out into the parking lot, which he’ll cross to get to the administration building. He winces as he sees the steadily falling rain through the glass panes of the door. Always rains here. Forgot to bring an umbrella or a raincoat. Have to run. He grimaces. Before he reaches the doors, he has to swerve to avoid a girl, standing still in front of them. His eyes pass over her. Pretty. Maybe he’ll have a few classes with her.
Already his mind has turned to something else.
But somehow he is called to look at her again. She is wet, soaked. Her knee-length coat sticks to her skin. One end of the scarf she is wearing in her hair is plastered to her neck. Her ash blond hair is long and loose, thin tendrils drip water to the already wet floor.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Suddenly he can hear the sound of each drop of water exploding as it meets the ceramic tiles. There is silence in his head, and nothing else is important save the girl that does not even meet his eyes. Instead, she stares ahead, and her expression is void of feeling. For a moment he stands, watching her. She does not move, and he does not dare. He feels the stirring of fear in the deep reaches of his mind. The girl is unnatural. At his thought, her head suddenly turns to meet his gaze. Her eyes are deep and troubled. Somewhere in their depths, without conscious thought, he notes madness and rage. A tremble runs down his spine. Her eyes are blue, and yet they are grey… He cannot tell their precise hue, and somehow it bothers him. Everything about this girl bothers him, suddenly. He would take a few steps back if he could, to be beyond the range of her disturbing gaze. But his feet do not obey him, and as panic starts to crowd his mind, she blinks. Long, dusky eyelashes lazily curtain her blue irises and their wide pupils. For an instant he is released from her eyes. He stumbles back, the noise of the hall comes crashing back into his confused brain. Without conscious thought, he drops his gaze to the floor, rushes past her, pushing the doors open with his hand. Finds himself standing in cold rain, melted snow that beats down upon his head, his shoulders. He throws the hood of his sweater over his head, starts running towards the neon lights that mark the administration in the semi-darkness of the storm. While he is running, he shakes his head, still gripped by a fear he cannot explain.

She stands in the hall. The wind that blew through the doors as the boy opened it made her shiver. She draws her wet coat tighter about her torso. Her eyes do not rove over the herds of teens rushing to classes. She stares ahead, and no one takes notice of her. Not yet. She knows it will be over soon. She closes her eyes. Thoughts pound inside her head. She hears someone come through the gym door. Hey, she’s new. Pretty. I like blondes. Nice curves. I’ll say hi when I see her at lunch. She opens her eyes. Finds the basketball team captain looking at her with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. The young woman grits her teeth at the images seething through his teenage mind. And tries to remember the music of falling rain, as the sound of a thousand thoughts fill her head.

Lyrics, lyrics, I'm inspired.

So yeah. I was never one for writing songs (hello. They sucked.) but I'm inspired these days. So yay, here we go for a song called Angel's Mark

Angel's Mark

Tangled threads, the web of madness
Take me away
Someone offer me forgiveness
Someone show me to the day

Reach the sky to die alone
Praying for the dawn
Waiting for the light of morn
The vict'ry of a pawn

Chorus:
I am falling, falling out of sight
Catch me, don't wanna fade into the light
Save me, I'm slipping in the dark
Touch me, leave me the angel's mark
_
Open the gates and set me free
Or tear apart my mind
Show me to eternity
Or leave me to my kind

The heavens tear apart beneath me
Wind whistles at my wings
Falling through a cloudless sky
For the peace the angel brings

Chorus
_
(Show me to eternity
Save me I'm slipping in the dark
Touch me
Leave me the angel's mark.)

Sun's Tears

The sun's tears have faded,
Have to turn the neons back on.
The rain trickling down my skin
Takes away what was already gone.

The secrets too close to the surface,
The lies too smooth to hide.
The sun's tears that have faded,
Truths that strip me bare inside...

Chorus:
(What was already gone was there only for you,
What was already taken was mine.)
They were mine, my secrets,
All my lies that belonged to me,
What I chose, you were meant to have,
But the rest should've been left to me.
_
And after the sun's tears fade,
Where do I have left to hide?
Burried in a grave too shallow
The truth's there to tell you I lied.

So if I burn for innocent sins,
Remember the truth in my lies.
Each tear of the sun was a moment
I spent drowning in your eyes.

Chorus:
_

(What was already gone was there only for you,
You reap what you sow in time.
I had nothing to loose and no reason for tears
What was already taken was mine.)

The sun's tears have faded,
The lights have turned back on.
The rain trickling down my skin
Takes away what was already gone.

Because I feel like writing to my best friend or The Meaning of Goodbye

So maybe my blog is not the most private place to do that. So what?
My brother leaves for prepa classes in britain (french britain. Its not famous but it exists.) in Rennes in august (that or hongkong. Please, no.). My sister leaves for china in a few months. And I'll be... alone? which is odd, you know, because I was alone during a year and it wasn't so... ominous. I've said it so many times, its easier to leave than to be left behind. And, at the same time, remember that cd you gave me, Melinda? Friends. And there's a song that says "it starts with goodbye".
How many things in my life have started with Goodbye? Practically everything. Every change that I've known. And is it so wrong? Goodbye isn't a good thing, is it? Not to most people. Not to me, even. You'd rather things start with hello than goodbye, right? Except people who say hello are legion. There are so many of them, wherever you go. Hello is the polite thing to say when you're the new guy. How many people say hello to you and forget your name as soon as they turn away? How many people say hello to you and aren't even thinking about you, aren't even looking at you, because, all in all, what do you represent? Let me tell you. More or less nothing. You're a face in a sea of faces, some known, some not, a voice that blends in with the surrounding noise. How do I know? Come on, everybody knows. Everyone is like that. When you say hi to someone you don't know, admit it. Most of the time, if they aren't a cute guy, do they even matter? Of course not. They're not people. At best, they're a change, at worst, they're an annoyance because you'd rather be doing something else. Don't get me wrong, I'm not attacking anybody. It isn't wrong, and yes, friendly people do exist, but okay, my point is, what is the meaning of hello? a potential beggining. Maybe, just maybe, the start of a beautiful friendship, huh, Querida? But most often? Hello is nothing. I would rather count the number of goodbyes I have received than the number of hellos.
Who says goodbye? The people you know. The people that said hello to you and actually came through. And aren't they so much more important? The ones that are sad to see you leave. The ones you are sad to see leave. And those goodbyes mean everything. When someone you love says goodbye to you, you remember it. There's an ache, in your heart, in your head, and there's hope and pain and sadness. The french word for goodbye is "au revoir". Want to know what it means? It means "to seeing each other again". And that... that is what's important. Goodbye isn't always an end. Always a beggining, that marks a different stage of life, but not always an end. When you say goodbye, there's hope, because the world? it's a small place. Someday you'll see some of the people you left again. Not all. But you can pretty much tell yourself that the people you never see again, you weren't meant to. The people you never see again don't mean all that much. They were important, at one stage of your life. And if you never see them again, if they don't go out of their way to see you or you don't go out of your way to see them, you don't need to. Some people say goodbye as an end. Others see it as a beggining. Others still see it as a hope. Its all of those things, I say. The best thing, the worst thing about goodbye is that you never know what it will bring.
The hellos in my life? I remember very few of them. But I remember every single goodbye from the people I love. And maybe that's not a good thing. Maybe you think its a negative way to think, a negative way to see life and its people. Me? I see it as people that cared, people I cared about. I see it as beautiful memories, painful memories, but better to feel pain that to feel nothing at all. And that's another subject.
So to those I said goodbye to, really said goodbye, please remember that you were mine. You were those that said hello to me, that I said hello to, those that meant something. You are those that I remember, those that made Goodbye a beggining.

Nous Ne Sommes Pas (We are not)

The heart of a child in a woman's body
Inside there's fear, outside the charm
Pantyhose that slips down
with a heart that follows
The mother of vices
Who's daughters are we?

The eyes of men are daggers
Metronomes that are always late
They admire us, then they insult
Treat us as queens, treat us like .... (guess the word, I dare you)

(chorus)
We are not what you want
We are not what you beleive
We're worse than that, so much worse
We are what you see
We are not what you think
We're worse than that, so much worse
It isn't what we are, it isn't what we are

would you look at yourself, take a look at me,
who is the jester and who's the king?
We are flowers, and you make us fade
If you get pricked don't start crying

(chorus)

We are not only mothers, not only daughters,
Dainty lace and eyes that shine
It isn't what we are, it isn't what we are

This is from Gone with the Wind french theater version, I'd give you the link to clip on youtube, except I don't like it. I like the song, though I don't beleive it, but when I'm angry at someone that sees only what he wants to see in me, I listen to this song and feel... arrogant, and sure of myself. Get why I like it?

Hey folks

Ah, but I have a lot to write. Oooooh, yes. My three birthday celebrations. My trip to Romania. How I busted my finger playing Wii. The last is the most important right now. Of course, because its all I NOTICE... it hurts like somewhere hot where people burn if they're evil. How did I manage to do this to myself, you ask? By playing tennis. But wait. Claire, that's illogic. You were playing Wii. How on earth did you manage to hurt yourself with a virtual ball and racket???? Because the chair I rammed my hand into was not virtual in the least.
And now typing is a difficult entreprise.
My birthday was 6 days ago. I got nice presents. A movie and romanian candy from Val, makeup from Dew, two hours of horseback a week instead of one, a silver bracelet to add to my collection and a notebook from my parents, a gold necklace with a horse pendant from my grandma in Valence, a great book from my bro and sis. All in all, a productive celebration, eh? Just kidding!
Romania was a week ago. I miss my dad, but he's coming home soon. I saw these castles!!!beautiful. Check out the pics on facebook in a few weeks, you'll see. And I could imagine. I could play make-beleive. I love imagining things. I saw the carpathians, I saw the Bran castle, otherwise known as dracula's castle but it had nothing to do with it which was ironic. Huge plains and touch-the-sky snow-tipped mountains.
And then I left and met my soul-mate on the plane. Aw, don't get excited, he was 33. But a girl can dream,eh?
My first birthday celebration was with direct family. I had a special breakfast. A special lunch. My grandpa wasn't there, neither was my dad. Something wasn't quite right. But I felt loved, cherished, and that's what's important, right? My next birthday celebration was that night, at a sleepover with my friends. It was fun. We got dressed up and her mom took us out to a lounge. We danced, listened to some music, had a great time. Came home at 2:30 in the morning. I had one of the most embarassing moments of my life when Val asked the singer to announce my birthday. Everyone looked at me. God knows how they knew it was me!! Then some guy asked me to dance. A night of firsts, I suppose. Poor dude. He'd be vexed if he knew I felt like I was dancing with my dad!! the funnest part for me was dancing with my friends and getting ready. And I slept for four in a half hours and went to the dentists to get a crown placed. All in all, a memorable two days. The third was yesterday. With my Mom's family. It was a surprise, I had no idea. THe cakes were so pretty! thing is, they brought them out and started singing happy birthday while I was in the bathroom. Yeah, yeah! Only happens to Claire.
So there, that's it. My birthday. I love my family. And my finger hurts.

VIP (very important passage)

You are all forbidden from criticizing this. This is my first attempt at a romance scene and it is BOUND to be awkward. But I do like to think it is sweet. I like this passage. But then again I just wrote (rewrote, really) it and so maybe tommorrow I won't like it quite so much. But anyway!
BTW for those of you who are asking yourselves how on earth he can be staring at the sky when he is in a ROOM for crying out loud, he is in the Morrighan Compound "throne room" and there is a small glass dome in the ceiling. If you've read my book and paid attention you know what I'm talking about.
This scene is written after Sebastian Corvinus, Dome Heir, escapes to the Morrighans... Phoenix was never a delicate soul, let it be said.

“What was I supposed to do? I should have killed him? For something he hasn’t done?”
“Yes!”
Enraged, he took her by the shoulders and shook her. “That’s not what I am! It’s not what I believe in! You were willing to kill him for something he’s innocent of!”
Phoenix twisted wildly and got out of his grasp. “He wasn’t innocent!” she nearly screamed, sobs starting to lace her voice, her small frame shaking with fury, “He did this! It was all for him! My brother, me, Hawke! Even Hawke, Ethan! He killed my mother! He killed my brother!” The last word was a howl of pain. She hugged herself tightly, as if to keep herself from falling apart at the assault of her emotions.
“Stop it!” Ethan bit off, “He did not kill them! That was his father, yours. It is not Seb’s fault.”
She drew herself up, stared at him eye to eye. “You’re just protecting him because of he’s your little darling’s best friend,” she accused, her voice trembling slightly. She was appalled at herself, she’d never lost control this way. But she couldn’t seem to stop. “Just because you sleep with her doesn’t mean you’re her bodyguard!”
“I told you I don’t sleep with her! Why won’t you listen?”
“Because of the way you look at her, because of the way you act around her like she’s a china doll waiting to break!” The last word was full of fury and pain.
“Goramm it, she is not my lover! She’s seventeen, Phoenix. I’m not an animal!”
Her eyes widened in disbelief and rage. “You bastard!” He dared. He dared to imply it, to say it.

A sob chokes in her throat as she remembers. Animal. She remembers Gray sneering at her brother. She remembers the hunt. Raven tiring beside her. Telling her to run. Gray and his dogs triumphantly closing in for the kill. She sees herself in that dark room. Hell. Hell, as she watches Gray taunt her brother before her. As she watches him lash out with his knife, cutting Raven, making him bleed. Animal. I’ll bleed you like an animal. Her pleas. Gray’s hands on her. Raven lunging. Gray’s knife slashing into her brother’s throat. The disbelief and the heartbreaking pain. His eyes, his beautiful tawny eyes, losing their light. Her brother, her beloved twin brother, the other half of her, falling into death. Her scream. Gray’s triumphant smile. “Animal,” he’d murmured. “Die like what you are.” And as her brother chokes on his own blood, her torturer takes out his gun and shoots a bullet into Raven’s head. Her face contorts in a horrible rictus of pain.

Twisting around Ethan, she tumbled him to the floor, fell onto him, lashed out with feet and hands, hurting him in anyway she could.
His eyes had darkened to deepest black when he had heard her insult, and now he rolled on top of her, pinning her arms over her head. He snarled into her face.
“Never. Call. Me. That.” His control was threadbare, his hands shaking so hard in his fury he was afraid he would bruise her.
“Then never say I’m an animal! Don’t even imply it!” Phoenix screamed, tears streaming down her white cheeks. She wanted to be angry, wanted the words to sound accusing and furious, but all she felt was desperate pain and sadness. For once her blue eyes were not of ice, flames burned in her dark pupils. Then she turned her head away and started to sob harder, her body convulsing beneath his.
“Did I?” he demanded furiously, wanting to shake her, his hands tightening even more around her wrists, “have I ever called you an animal? Even once? Have I ever done, “ he snarled, “said anything that demeaned or insulted you in any way?”
And though she knew he was right, she could not help but see her brother lying on the cold stone floor, her savior bursting through the door only seconds too late, too late to save him. And his tawny eyes that haunt her, that have haunted her for so long, closing in death. She went still in Ethan’s grasp.
“His eyes were like amber, with the sun shining through,” she murmured, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks. The anger in her eyes was gone, leaving only naked, raw pain. Her voice was clear and worn, but for once, alive. “I don’t remember his scent, I don’t remember the sound of his voice, or the rhythm of his heartbeat. But I remember his eyes, when they lost the sun.” She turned her head to the side, closed her own eyes, obscuring the brilliant sky-blue irises. “Raven,” she whispered, “Raven. He was my brother. And he died for the Dome Heir. He was killed in front of me for Sebastian Corvinus.” Her voice broke. “Kill him!”
“Once you asked me. Once I obeyed. Never again! Gray is dead. He is dead. I avenged my grandfather and your brother and that is enough!” His grip had loosened, his voice had lost its fury. But the words he said were no less angry and pained. His tone softened even more. “Phoenix. How can you want to kill your own brother? You know what is real, what is true. If you kill Corvinus, then you are what you so despise. An animal. Incappable of human reflexion, of emotion-“
He was interrupted by the hand that cracked across his cheek. His face turned aside by the force of her blow, he swore, slowly and steadily. Letting go of her arms, he reached up with one hand and touched his cheek. His fingers came away red with blood. Unconsciously, the young woman had unsheathed the short sharp claws that were her mutant heritage, and had scored his face, four thin parallel lines from his ear to his jaw.
Ethan growled something in the back of his throat. He rolled off of her and got up, frustrated, enraged at the way she destroyed his self-control, angry at himself for the feelings she made him feel. He turned to Phoenix, saw she had rolled into a ball on the floor, the force of her sobs shaking her body. It hurt to see her cry. It tore at something he hadn’t known was there.
“Stop it,” Ethan ordered tersely, turning his back to her shaking form, grinding his teeth to resist the demand of comforting her, even as he tried to remember his anger, the blood dripping down from his face.
“Leave me alone. Just… just go. Go away and leave me alone!” she cried, her voice muffled. Her words opened a raw wound inside his heart.
“I can’t!” he told her forcefully, looking harassed, “Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? There’s something in me that can’t let you go! There’s something in me that hurts every time I see you cry.” He sighed, as tension escaped his tall frame. He fell to his knees beside her. “Don’t cry,” he whispered.
He gathered her into his arms, bringing her close, as she watched him dazedly. A sweet pain rose in him as he saw her open her mouth, probably to tell him to let go. He decided he wouldn’t give her the chance. Ducking his head, he brushed his lips against hers, a touch that could have been the wind. His hand left her side, to brush back her short, raven-black hair from her wet cheeks, he nuzzled her neck as small sobs continued to shake her. He cupped her face in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers.
“I can’t,” he breathed. Then he kissed her again, hard. She melted into his arms, sinking her fingers into his hair, as he held her close, his kiss both harsh and sweet. Then he picked her up, walked across the room, and sat down again, leaning against the wall, cradling her gently, his eyes closed as she cried softly in his arms, clinging to him.
She wanted to let go. And yet, she couldn’t. Phoenix opened her eyes. Stared up at the face of the man that held her. His eyes were closed, and the blood on his face was already drying. Her hands, burrowed in his long dark hair, unclenched. She reached down, touched his cheek. He opened his dark, dark eyes. Nothing was sure anymore, nothing felt real. She was drowning in darkness, the only thing that anchored her to reality the warm form she was held against.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. She pushed herself against him, and his arms tightened around her reflexively. But she made no move to leave his embrace, only kissed his marred cheek gently, her eyes sorrowful.
“Feels better,” he told her softly, just to see her small smile. She closed her eyes again, clasped her arms around his chest, and lay her head on his shoulder. He held her, as time seemed to stop and fly at the same time, as the world grew still around them as if they were alone on earth. He held her, until her breathing deepened, until she relaxed in his arms. He held her as she slept, soundlessly, dreamlessly, as he stared up at the night sky.

There you have it. Feel free to tell me it sucked. I'm not sure about this one.

Bobbing my head along to Madonna, "don't tell me". Don't know why I like that song but I do. Wondering if my best friend is mad at me. Wondering why in friggin ... there is something so wrong in my life. Wondering if I should write down the idea that's been trotting in my head for a while. Deciding against it. Reviewing that judgement. Listening to the song "kings of the world" thinking its true. "the kings of the world have people around them but they're alone" "the kings of the world protect themselves against everything, even love." and though it sounds weird in english, its really beautiful in french. Part of the musical comedy of Romeo and Juliet. Love that song. I think its on youtube... Romeo is hot. Smile. I don't know. I'm confused and frustrated and there's something so very wrong with my universe right now. I'm thinking I'd rather hear "numb" than the other song I like of Romeo and Juliet "love". How revealing is that? I imagine my confused state reveals itself in what I'm writing. I don't even know if someone who knows me would even be able to make sense of what I'm saying. Song changes to "leave out all the rest". Linkin' park is actually really good, dyou know? I going to become deaf if I keep raising the sound on this ... computer. I don't care.
Ever wanted a background music? You know, that music that plays at meaningful moments in movies? That's what I want right now. Leave out all the rest. And I keep raising the sound. Until it hurts my ears. Until I can't hear anything else. Until I don't see anything else but the words I write on a computer screen, and darkness.

I dreamed I was missing
You were so scared
But no one would listen
Cause no one else cared

After my dreaming
I woke with this fear
What am I leaving
When I'm done here

So if you're asking me
I want you to know

[Chorus]
When my time comes
Forget the wrong that I've done
Help me leave behind some
Reasons to be missed

And don't resent me
And when you're feeling empty
Keep me in your memory

Leave out all the rest
Leave out all the rest

Don't be afraid
I've taken my beating
I've shared what I made

I'm strong on the surface
Not all the way through
I've never been perfect
But neither have you

So if you're asking me
I want you to know

[Chorus]
When my time comes
Forget the wrong that I've done
Help me leave behind some
Reasons to be missed

Don't resent me
And when you're feeling empty
Keep me in your memory

Leave out all the rest
Leave out all the rest

Forgetting
All the hurt inside
You've learned to hide so well

Pretending
Someone else can come and save me from myself
I can't be who you are

When my time comes
Forget the wrong that I've done
Help me leave behind some
Reasons to be missed

Don't resent me
And when you're feeling empty
Keep me in your memory

Leave out all the rest
Leave out all the rest

Forgetting
All the hurt inside
You've learned to hide so well

Pretending
Someone else can come and save me from myself
I can't be who you are
I can't be who you are

(leave out all the rest, linkin park)

Lonely

I was going to post something very deep and dramatic here... but then I decided just telling the world, if the world ever reads this, that I am simply lonely and tired. After all, what point would it serve to make it a litany? Sometimes just a few words are enough.

Tattooed

She grits her teeth as the tiny needle pierces her skin, again and again. Blood wells up at each sharp prick, blood that is stained dark with black ink. She must not cry out. She must not show her pain, or her horror. She is an adept, and as such, able to control herself.
The girl throws her head back, her teeth clenched. It meets the rock behind her with a sharp crack, but she barely acknowledges the pain. She must not let go. If the strength of her jaw fails now, it feels as if all the horror and hurt she is keeping inside herself will jump out in a horrible, pain-wrenched scream, shaming her, shaming her mentor and her family. So she tightens her fists, bites her tongue until she can taste the metallic tang of blood in her mouth, and endures. The young woman feels each drop of crimson blood well on her tender skin, feels each prick of the needle as it embeds the ink deep within her flesh. Her arms tremble in their cuffs, making her silver and gold bracelets jingle in a cheerful sound. She closes her eyes in shame, breathing sharply, in short pants, so as not to disturb the ones who mark her. Every time she takes a breath, the slight distending of her abdomen's skin is pure torture. The needle digs deeper, the blood swells thicker, and her teeth are this much closer to unlocking and letting out her scream. The girl wants to cry out in shame, in revulsion of what they are doing, in fear and anger and rage.
They mark her. On the soft, tender flesh of her stomach, they draw mysterious arabesques and curves. They have cuffed her to a wall. They have set bracelets and bangles on her arms and feet. They mark her, as slaves are marked. They restrain her, they attire her, as a slave. The shame of it is almost as painful as the needle piercing her skin. It brings tears to her eyes, tears that are not allowed to fall.
For she knows that this is the way. She knew as soon as she saw her mentor's exposed flesh, the entrelacs of black lines on his forearm. But before the horror, the shame and revulsion had time to sink in, the young woman had been tied to the wall. How could anyone accept this? her pain-hazed mind screams.Surely she has lost her mind. Only the constant pain of needle piercing skin reminds her that this scene is set in reality. Even she would never have beleived the rite to be so barbarian, so inhumane as this.
A hiccup of pain, cut off by her tightly clenched jaws, rises as she feels a rough cloth against her stomach, wiping away the blood. Is the ordeal finished? Somehow it seems almost impossible, as if no one could survive such shame. But there is no more blood welling up, no more trickles of the warm liquid down her stomach. Her arms are unbound, and they slide bonelessly to the stone tiles she sits on. She lowers her head, unclenches her teeth. Finally allows a sob to break free, as she sees she is alone. Tears start to fall as she quietly wails, as one sob follows the other, her lament interrupted by hiccups that shake her body. She spends her remaining strength crying, crying for the loss of something she does not fully understand.
As her sobs diminish in intensity, she calms, little by little, until only the force of her labored breath wracks her body. She allows her body out of the foetal position she had assumed, and carefully lowers her eyes to the blood stained cloth she holds against her left side. Her staccato breaths fill the tiny room she is in. Slowly the young woman takes her hand away, carefully clutching the rough cloth to take it with her, but not so hard as to scrape it against the tender flesh. As she sees the mysterious design on her skin, she almost begins to cry again, tears gathering in her warm brown eyes.
She tries to rip her eyes away, but cannot. The black entrelacs fascinates her as much as it repels her. She touches the alien design, lightly with her finger, and almost howls at the pain. A few labored pants later, satisfied that the strange thing is indeed part of her flesh, she berates herself for her foolishness, but she is still carefully examining the foreign, barbaric drawing, as if it is something she is not permitted to do. Slowly she allows her eyes to follow a stark line, that melts into another, that reforms, defining a curve, surrounding and losing itself again in the minute arabesques. Slowly she allows herself to admire the shape, the form, the beauty. The girl cannot allow herself to think, else she would run howling down to the cliffs and throw herself in to the sea. So she looks, and admires this repulsive, beautiful art that brands her.
It is not like the slave markings, she reflects. Gods know she has seen enough to know what they resemble. If this was not a tattoo upon her own skin but a carving, or a design painted on a wall, she would weep at the beauty of it. It seems to move upon her reddened skin, twisting and curving with a life of its own. Again, as if hypnotized, she tried to caress the slippery shape, seeking to appease the energy that seems to course through it. She bites back a sharp cry of pain. The skin is too tender, the tattoo too fresh.
The girl concentrates, reaches deep inside of her. Searches for the power she knows she will find. Grasps it. Wields it. Applies it to the reddened skin, murmuring soothingly as she changes the flow of her combat magic to healing. But the magic is absorbed by the design, and additional drops of blood well up. She inspires sharply. The door of the room opens.
"Sindalear." Her mentor seems an otherwordly figure in her confusion. She lifts her eyes to his. "Welcome to the Guild of Slaves."