| Walking |
[01 Jun 2004|04:45pm] |
Malachy headed in the general direction of the tree he’d met Grace under, blaring music to entertain everyone. It was odd, how easy it was to get lost in this place. Not lost in the physical sense, Mal was more than used to finding his way around new places, but more in the sense that … you could go for weeks in this place and not talk to a single soul. It would be so easy to hide in this place.
Not that he’d been hiding. No. More just … not going out? Okay. Not hiding but … keeping to himself? Yeah. That was definitely better wording. Lotte was there, Grace was there. Things were good if he wanted to talk to someone. He’d been avoiding sitting down with Summers, but mostly it wasn’t intentional. He wasn’t that nervous either. It was just the prospect of explaining about his powers. Didn’t do a guy’s mood any favours.
He’d brought a notepad. There’d been words stuck in his head since last night. Along with trying to memorise his class timetable so he didn’t have to carry the bit of paper around, he’d written some music. Words came with the music but he hadn’t had spare blank paper on him.
The Behind
Broken mirrors,
Slivers of glass.
Fake reflection,
Can’t look back.
Forward’s too hard,
With bends in the road.
Forked tongues,
Secrets of lies.
It’s broken again,
Surprise, surprise.
Midnight blue,
Just fades to black.
Over and done with.
Can’t look back.
He sighed his name at the bottom of the page, scribbling down where he was when finally got around to writing it. For some reason it made him think of his mother. He closed his eyes and flopped back against the trunk of the tree. Had to stop writing songs. Back to words that didn’t rhyme. A blink. Words that didn’t rhyme … His pencil went scratching over the paper again.
|
|
|
[29 May 2004|10:10am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 restless |
] |
Hey, Grace! Seeing as I've corrupted you - wanna sit with me and Lotte in English Lit?
|
|
| [Private Entry] |
[29 May 2004|07:40am] |
Foothold.
It’s a new day, not the first day.
Complicated -
Changin’ faces, moving places,
Becomin’ the thing you knew you were all along.
Doubt’s like cancer, eatin’ in.
Found the water but I can’t swim.
Constant feelin’ of drownin’,
Someone pulled away my foothold
And now I’m fallin’ in.
Where’s the rush to rearrange?
The constant need to reframe?
Had my quota of the pain.
Silent graces,
Angels faces.
Now it’s time to begin.
‘cause I’ve been down,
I’ve been crawlin’.
Where’s my foothold?
It’s vanished again.
|
|
| First ... thing? |
[29 May 2004|07:40am] |
I’ve lost my timetable. Already. Someone’s gonna kill me. I don’t get it - it’s not like it’s all crumpled and messy and folded into a little square or something. (Okay so it was gettin’ there.) It was all nice and neat and un-scribbled on. I’m gonna get my ass kicked.
Is this supposed to be an introduction? Eh. Too late now. Spent the entire induction period on Monday writing when I should have been paying attention. Oh, well.
I’m Mal. Malachy. Yeah.
I suck at introductions.
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
dusk_wx's journal