handdrawnhearts

intercom crackles voice echoes through the halls the incessant ringing of school bells used to it, every day but today is different -- today they tell us someone died. faceless, no one recognizes her; pretty name, shapeless face death is detailed in hushed voices car crash, severed spine, braindead -- then she's gone. but no tears litter the hallways only morbid interest dripping to the floor. invisible corpse lying there spectators stop and point. dishonored spectacle no one notices her pain. repress the torment of your best friend's death. walk through the metal-walled cell hear the gossip and the glances no fear, no sa

It's a reflex. Grasp the phone; enter the digits; wait, listening to the daunting sound of a flat, wrenching tone. Her lips are shaking, as are her hands, moving inconsistently in small, wretched jerks. Her hair falls carelessly into her face, but she is too blinded by the rushing of tiny tears to notice. She swallows back the biting pain but it rises once again. Her breath is ragged; she can barely understand what is happening. The agony rises once more; swallow back down.               "Hello?" There is a smile in his voice.               A sob escapes her with a shudder. The tears gush freely down her softly contoured cheeks. She tries

Midnight in the Fields of Mourning and everyone is awake. The bodiless souls scatter across the meadow, speechless in their sorrow. The moon reigns high in the ebony sky, an amber entity stretching its arms, pitying these passionate. Their faces are cold and stoic, the expressions immovable with only the exception of crimson tears sliding effortlessly downwards. Trapped in neither Heaven nor Hell, they live eternities untouched and unhappy, regret plaguing the sanity their fates left them.          In this meadow lies a creek, too small to be a sixth river, a friendless and familiar sight, enchanting to the lost and lovely souls. It is call

She feels the grasp of his hand through her glove The warmth of the body is cooler than love A smile on his face can leave her feeling breathless. The way the snowflakes land in her hair He'd go back inside but it wouldn't be fair Salvation for him is not the deed of the restless. But with her golden smile, his thoughts disappear She raises her arms in freedom and cheer Her spirit, ungrounded, floats above in the sky. Her laughter's contagious, he himself starts to grin Her joy and excitement is taking him in He feels himself float in the wind and still can't see why. Her lips are as soft as the snow on the ground A giggle escape