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The tears are hidden by a well dressed veil, caught within a hanging pail, and when she rides alone at night, she'll drench herself while out of sight.
For the girl depends on love alone, a sad life so controlled by a phone, waiting so patiently for it to ring, to let her listen or to let her sing... She lives alone but yet in two, she's bought the voice of 'I love you', which she expects to hear when she's down, it'll lift her spirit and drain the frown, of which she keeps in a breast pocket purse, and of which of course she likes to nurse.
And so the girl cries at dark, when her boyfriend runs around the park, playing games with his mates, chasing balls and slamming gates, and the girl would think about what to do, the life she leads of words untrue, the things she says because she's weak, to think of a life that she could seek, if she broke away and lived as her, and threw away her fakelike fur.
Sits alone on the favourite tables, cornered with her boyfriend's fables, and maybe she might meet her friend, then the real girl shows and the lies will end, she'll just be herself for a small while, laugh and joke and scream and smile, till the boy returns to pull her back, finds her eyes and pulls tight the slack, and then she returns to be loved again, hoping for a second when...
But if she knew of the boy that watched, not at her body through the eyes of his crotch, but the way she laughed and the way she smiled, not the way her nails were filed, but when she grinned, he did too, but after all, it couldn't be true, she was with him, she spent her time, with the boy that had asked her, to tie his line, around her waist, until she hurt, screamed for mercy in lips so pert, asked for help with a slender figure, cried because he wants to lick her, but sure let him, that'll be good, then you can rid of his wood, talk to him and see him deeper, there HAS to be something beyond the sleeper?
And so the boy that watched the floor, only the girl he's waiting for, for the times when she was herself, just bought him back to peaceful health, but if he knew how the hands were dealt, and if she knew the way he felt, and realised that there was more to this, than the caring hug and the gentle kiss, for he's just controlling the way you feel, calming you from your life unreal, a comfort from the times before, but now you're just seen as a wh*re, so the tears do pour when they lock the door and you're left alone and by the phone waiting for the comfort to ring and please just listen to you sing.
When two streets away would lie him, that so dearly wishes to hear her sing, the tone of voice she loves to use, is a passion he would fear to lose, for what if the boyfriend stopped her now, from laughing without asking how, he's not interested in her mind, he's only really being kind... so he can lay her down in his greed, and chant to friends about the deed... it hurt him to think of the current pain, as he'll look outside in the pouring rain, but I guess as long as she's not sad, then I suppose I really should be glad...
But if only the two of them could see, that it's not the way things have to be, for she needs him because she's immature, so why can't he knock at her door? They won't need comfort to be together, because they'll just be happy to watch the weather, the clouds that form and a sun to rise, and they can look each other in the eyes, fall in love and be alive, find a ocean for them to dive, and walk life as it will come, hold their hands and walk as one.
But until that day, or so we say, we have to lean and think and sigh at the way that people walk so high in a strange attempt to hide a tear from those that could help destroy the fear... If only we learned to speak our minds, instead of doing what we thought was kind, then perhaps we could at last see, just how happy that girl could be.
For the girl depends on love alone, a sad life so controlled by a phone, waiting so patiently for it to ring, to let her listen or to let her sing... She lives alone but yet in two, she's bought the voice of 'I love you', which she expects to hear when she's down, it'll lift her spirit and drain the frown, of which she keeps in a breast pocket purse, and of which of course she likes to nurse.
And so the girl cries at dark, when her boyfriend runs around the park, playing games with his mates, chasing balls and slamming gates, and the girl would think about what to do, the life she leads of words untrue, the things she says because she's weak, to think of a life that she could seek, if she broke away and lived as her, and threw away her fakelike fur.
Sits alone on the favourite tables, cornered with her boyfriend's fables, and maybe she might meet her friend, then the real girl shows and the lies will end, she'll just be herself for a small while, laugh and joke and scream and smile, till the boy returns to pull her back, finds her eyes and pulls tight the slack, and then she returns to be loved again, hoping for a second when...
But if she knew of the boy that watched, not at her body through the eyes of his crotch, but the way she laughed and the way she smiled, not the way her nails were filed, but when she grinned, he did too, but after all, it couldn't be true, she was with him, she spent her time, with the boy that had asked her, to tie his line, around her waist, until she hurt, screamed for mercy in lips so pert, asked for help with a slender figure, cried because he wants to lick her, but sure let him, that'll be good, then you can rid of his wood, talk to him and see him deeper, there HAS to be something beyond the sleeper?
And so the boy that watched the floor, only the girl he's waiting for, for the times when she was herself, just bought him back to peaceful health, but if he knew how the hands were dealt, and if she knew the way he felt, and realised that there was more to this, than the caring hug and the gentle kiss, for he's just controlling the way you feel, calming you from your life unreal, a comfort from the times before, but now you're just seen as a wh*re, so the tears do pour when they lock the door and you're left alone and by the phone waiting for the comfort to ring and please just listen to you sing.
When two streets away would lie him, that so dearly wishes to hear her sing, the tone of voice she loves to use, is a passion he would fear to lose, for what if the boyfriend stopped her now, from laughing without asking how, he's not interested in her mind, he's only really being kind... so he can lay her down in his greed, and chant to friends about the deed... it hurt him to think of the current pain, as he'll look outside in the pouring rain, but I guess as long as she's not sad, then I suppose I really should be glad...
But if only the two of them could see, that it's not the way things have to be, for she needs him because she's immature, so why can't he knock at her door? They won't need comfort to be together, because they'll just be happy to watch the weather, the clouds that form and a sun to rise, and they can look each other in the eyes, fall in love and be alive, find a ocean for them to dive, and walk life as it will come, hold their hands and walk as one.
But until that day, or so we say, we have to lean and think and sigh at the way that people walk so high in a strange attempt to hide a tear from those that could help destroy the fear... If only we learned to speak our minds, instead of doing what we thought was kind, then perhaps we could at last see, just how happy that girl could be.
er-no wrote:
> Inspiring. ( ;) )
Damn right.
I'm going to write a story too now :-) One that's been lurking in the back of mind for a while, written on trains and tubes and in my head.
But that was beautiful. As always.
The only problem I can see is taht while sad and mad are good adjectives, glad/rad/bad all sound a bit twee :-)
> Inspiring. ( ;) )
Damn right.
I'm going to write a story too now :-) One that's been lurking in the back of mind for a while, written on trains and tubes and in my head.
But that was beautiful. As always.
The only problem I can see is taht while sad and mad are good adjectives, glad/rad/bad all sound a bit twee :-)
You already know my opinion of this.
Amazing, bloody brilliant. Would prefer to read 100 of these than any book or play any game.
Inspiring. ( ;) )
Amazing, bloody brilliant. Would prefer to read 100 of these than any book or play any game.
Inspiring. ( ;) )
The tears are hidden by a well dressed veil, caught within a hanging pail, and when she rides alone at night, she'll drench herself while out of sight.
For the girl depends on love alone, a sad life so controlled by a phone, waiting so patiently for it to ring, to let her listen or to let her sing... She lives alone but yet in two, she's bought the voice of 'I love you', which she expects to hear when she's down, it'll lift her spirit and drain the frown, of which she keeps in a breast pocket purse, and of which of course she likes to nurse.
And so the girl cries at dark, when her boyfriend runs around the park, playing games with his mates, chasing balls and slamming gates, and the girl would think about what to do, the life she leads of words untrue, the things she says because she's weak, to think of a life that she could seek, if she broke away and lived as her, and threw away her fakelike fur.
Sits alone on the favourite tables, cornered with her boyfriend's fables, and maybe she might meet her friend, then the real girl shows and the lies will end, she'll just be herself for a small while, laugh and joke and scream and smile, till the boy returns to pull her back, finds her eyes and pulls tight the slack, and then she returns to be loved again, hoping for a second when...
But if she knew of the boy that watched, not at her body through the eyes of his crotch, but the way she laughed and the way she smiled, not the way her nails were filed, but when she grinned, he did too, but after all, it couldn't be true, she was with him, she spent her time, with the boy that had asked her, to tie his line, around her waist, until she hurt, screamed for mercy in lips so pert, asked for help with a slender figure, cried because he wants to lick her, but sure let him, that'll be good, then you can rid of his wood, talk to him and see him deeper, there HAS to be something beyond the sleeper?
And so the boy that watched the floor, only the girl he's waiting for, for the times when she was herself, just bought him back to peaceful health, but if he knew how the hands were dealt, and if she knew the way he felt, and realised that there was more to this, than the caring hug and the gentle kiss, for he's just controlling the way you feel, calming you from your life unreal, a comfort from the times before, but now you're just seen as a wh*re, so the tears do pour when they lock the door and you're left alone and by the phone waiting for the comfort to ring and please just listen to you sing.
When two streets away would lie him, that so dearly wishes to hear her sing, the tone of voice she loves to use, is a passion he would fear to lose, for what if the boyfriend stopped her now, from laughing without asking how, he's not interested in her mind, he's only really being kind... so he can lay her down in his greed, and chant to friends about the deed... it hurt him to think of the current pain, as he'll look outside in the pouring rain, but I guess as long as she's not sad, then I suppose I really should be glad...
But if only the two of them could see, that it's not the way things have to be, for she needs him because she's immature, so why can't he knock at her door? They won't need comfort to be together, because they'll just be happy to watch the weather, the clouds that form and a sun to rise, and they can look each other in the eyes, fall in love and be alive, find a ocean for them to dive, and walk life as it will come, hold their hands and walk as one.
But until that day, or so we say, we have to lean and think and sigh at the way that people walk so high in a strange attempt to hide a tear from those that could help destroy the fear... If only we learned to speak our minds, instead of doing what we thought was kind, then perhaps we could at last see, just how happy that girl could be.
For the girl depends on love alone, a sad life so controlled by a phone, waiting so patiently for it to ring, to let her listen or to let her sing... She lives alone but yet in two, she's bought the voice of 'I love you', which she expects to hear when she's down, it'll lift her spirit and drain the frown, of which she keeps in a breast pocket purse, and of which of course she likes to nurse.
And so the girl cries at dark, when her boyfriend runs around the park, playing games with his mates, chasing balls and slamming gates, and the girl would think about what to do, the life she leads of words untrue, the things she says because she's weak, to think of a life that she could seek, if she broke away and lived as her, and threw away her fakelike fur.
Sits alone on the favourite tables, cornered with her boyfriend's fables, and maybe she might meet her friend, then the real girl shows and the lies will end, she'll just be herself for a small while, laugh and joke and scream and smile, till the boy returns to pull her back, finds her eyes and pulls tight the slack, and then she returns to be loved again, hoping for a second when...
But if she knew of the boy that watched, not at her body through the eyes of his crotch, but the way she laughed and the way she smiled, not the way her nails were filed, but when she grinned, he did too, but after all, it couldn't be true, she was with him, she spent her time, with the boy that had asked her, to tie his line, around her waist, until she hurt, screamed for mercy in lips so pert, asked for help with a slender figure, cried because he wants to lick her, but sure let him, that'll be good, then you can rid of his wood, talk to him and see him deeper, there HAS to be something beyond the sleeper?
And so the boy that watched the floor, only the girl he's waiting for, for the times when she was herself, just bought him back to peaceful health, but if he knew how the hands were dealt, and if she knew the way he felt, and realised that there was more to this, than the caring hug and the gentle kiss, for he's just controlling the way you feel, calming you from your life unreal, a comfort from the times before, but now you're just seen as a wh*re, so the tears do pour when they lock the door and you're left alone and by the phone waiting for the comfort to ring and please just listen to you sing.
When two streets away would lie him, that so dearly wishes to hear her sing, the tone of voice she loves to use, is a passion he would fear to lose, for what if the boyfriend stopped her now, from laughing without asking how, he's not interested in her mind, he's only really being kind... so he can lay her down in his greed, and chant to friends about the deed... it hurt him to think of the current pain, as he'll look outside in the pouring rain, but I guess as long as she's not sad, then I suppose I really should be glad...
But if only the two of them could see, that it's not the way things have to be, for she needs him because she's immature, so why can't he knock at her door? They won't need comfort to be together, because they'll just be happy to watch the weather, the clouds that form and a sun to rise, and they can look each other in the eyes, fall in love and be alive, find a ocean for them to dive, and walk life as it will come, hold their hands and walk as one.
But until that day, or so we say, we have to lean and think and sigh at the way that people walk so high in a strange attempt to hide a tear from those that could help destroy the fear... If only we learned to speak our minds, instead of doing what we thought was kind, then perhaps we could at last see, just how happy that girl could be.