Keagle
Apr 4th, 2004, 03:28:40 PM
Since we're feeling so anesthetised
In our comfort zone
Reminds me of the second time
That i followed you home
We're running out of allibies
From the second of May
Reminds me of the summer time
On this winter's day
See you at the bitter end
See you at the bitter end
Every step we take that's synchronized
Every broken bone
Reminds me of the second time
That I followed you home
You shower me with lullabies
As you're walking away
Reminds me that it's killing time
On this fateful day
See you at the bitter end
See you at the bitter end
See you at the bitter end
See you at the bitter end
From the time we intercepted
Feels more like suicide...
See you at the bitter end
The wind rustled through his hair, padding his dark brown locks softly against his forehead. His eyes were closed, his arms almost floating besides his body, using the casual lift of the breeze to keep his open palms aloft. He breathed deeply, two thoughts bouncing across his mind. The first, quite rational for a man who had been denyed his lover and unborn children:
'I'll never see my family again.'
The other, something less logical, and something rather cryptic to anyone whom had not been following his train of thought since his arrival in this hospital.
'I'd rather kill myself than burden her with a life in a mental institution.'
It was obvious. A week lying alone in a field, no food, no water. A woman claiming to be Jezebella - the lover he had watched die - saving his life, bringing him to a hospital for treatment, and leaving him to fend for himself against the hordes of doctors. The milky blue hospital gown flapping against his bare legs, as he stood on the edge of the hospital roof. The death he had been wishing for, over seven days.
He was insane. He was delusional. So he would spare everyone the misery of watching him throw himself against the padded walls of wherever they had stashed him away. Why was death the answer? Was it not just some selfish wish for him to be alone, to not have to cope with Jezeballa's death? No. He knew he was right. He was Tom Keagle, he was always right.
His toes curled around the cold wall beneath him. Funny how he cared about the sting of the breeze, when in a momeny he would be dead. He smirked, something of a trademark to those who knew him, and breathed in slowly, picturing his lover in his mind's eye. God, she was beautiful. He stepped forward.
"Well, here we go. Bye all, hope you can cope without me."
In our comfort zone
Reminds me of the second time
That i followed you home
We're running out of allibies
From the second of May
Reminds me of the summer time
On this winter's day
See you at the bitter end
See you at the bitter end
Every step we take that's synchronized
Every broken bone
Reminds me of the second time
That I followed you home
You shower me with lullabies
As you're walking away
Reminds me that it's killing time
On this fateful day
See you at the bitter end
See you at the bitter end
See you at the bitter end
See you at the bitter end
From the time we intercepted
Feels more like suicide...
See you at the bitter end
The wind rustled through his hair, padding his dark brown locks softly against his forehead. His eyes were closed, his arms almost floating besides his body, using the casual lift of the breeze to keep his open palms aloft. He breathed deeply, two thoughts bouncing across his mind. The first, quite rational for a man who had been denyed his lover and unborn children:
'I'll never see my family again.'
The other, something less logical, and something rather cryptic to anyone whom had not been following his train of thought since his arrival in this hospital.
'I'd rather kill myself than burden her with a life in a mental institution.'
It was obvious. A week lying alone in a field, no food, no water. A woman claiming to be Jezebella - the lover he had watched die - saving his life, bringing him to a hospital for treatment, and leaving him to fend for himself against the hordes of doctors. The milky blue hospital gown flapping against his bare legs, as he stood on the edge of the hospital roof. The death he had been wishing for, over seven days.
He was insane. He was delusional. So he would spare everyone the misery of watching him throw himself against the padded walls of wherever they had stashed him away. Why was death the answer? Was it not just some selfish wish for him to be alone, to not have to cope with Jezeballa's death? No. He knew he was right. He was Tom Keagle, he was always right.
His toes curled around the cold wall beneath him. Funny how he cared about the sting of the breeze, when in a momeny he would be dead. He smirked, something of a trademark to those who knew him, and breathed in slowly, picturing his lover in his mind's eye. God, she was beautiful. He stepped forward.
"Well, here we go. Bye all, hope you can cope without me."