leelee101

take no more romance for another symphony could never play your heart like mine. i am the conductor and i am the musicians and i have been playing this song for so long but i don't think you can hear it yet so i have been practicing, we have been practicing, me, the conductor, and me, the musicians, all lined up in our places playing the same song over and over i can see me, the cellist, glaring at me, the conductor, because we have been practicing for hours and, as billy collins would say, now it is very late, even for musicians but i have to do this right, we have to get this right, and play every note just as it w

I don't know how high up an airplane is during takeoff or landing, when the people become miniatures of their true selves and the cars could be toys in the hands of a young boy, about 7 or 8. But my favorite part of this limbo, this place somewhere between the ground and the sky, are the swimming pools sitting quietly in the backyards of suburbia. From this height, they're only bg enough for a finger or two of mine to take a dip, but they look refreshing nonetheless. From this angle, with the tilt of the plane, and the afternoon sun hitting just right, on the surface of every pool, including the dirty green ones and the

i guess the moon gets tired too because the flickering, moving, breathing, shadows of dying trees aren't projected into my room tonight. maybe the moon gets depressed too because it left its family and its home and its now stuck orbiting the earth watching a life it can't belong to wishing it could come back... but it doesn't speak. it's sorry.

i feel this lonlieness trying to choke me squeezing my heart but not too hard its so light that i could ignore it, but i know its there gently pushing in on me quietly squeezing killing me i feel the silence creeping up my throat drying it making my vocal chords parched i cant speak i can just breath bubbles tiny, tiny bubbles that float out of my mouth and into the sky and pop and thats the only noise that i can make i'm sorry

my feet are soft and fragile and clean. they soaked in that water for hours and all the bad washed off. they're new having never been exposed to dirt. they belong to a child they don't belong to me they're innocent they're too innocent to be mine. i am not innocent. these are not my feet. my mouth isn't innocent; i remember what it has said. my eyes aren't innocent; i remember what they have seen. my mind isn't innocent; i remember what i've thought.

in case you were wondering, i hate you. you think that you're better than me newflash: you aren't you speak down to me in that sarcastic pretend-concerned tone when really you just want me to realize that you're better than me but you're not you're not you're not and you never will be the sad thing is... i don't hate you and you dont think that you're better than me i just need something to hate.

"Easy," is her new favorite word. We'll be loading the dishwasher, clanking the dishes around. "Easy," she'll say, then she'll wisper it again: "easy..." She says it when the lights are too bright. 'Too bright' meaning on. Ever since it happened, we live in a cave; whispering, living by the light of flashlights. I remember when it wasn't like this. Not too long ago we were a regular family. Lizzie was always the "good" one. Mom loved her more, it was obvious. When she died, Mom blamed me. I don't know why. I remember when we got the phone call. "Whore!" my mom shrieked at me. "How could you do this to her?" I didn't even know what had happ