i'm tired of being your satellite (your_satellite) wrote,
i'm tired of being your satellite

  • Mood:

One hundred and eleven weeks.  Still feel gone.

She mused over the broken lifeline

In the palm of her hand

So short, so sharp

Held it close to her face

Listened to it ticking away like a crocodile clock

There in the hollow of her hand

Dangerous, inevitable destiny

Following her lead

Over lagoons of lost boys

Wet and shiny and willing

Tick tick tick

Through deep, dark places

Ivy viney and tanglewood

Fairy glamour over all

(Obscuring the truth for something far prettier)

Treacherous hearts and poison in the bottle

She will take her medicine without a mother’s orders

She will be ready for the springcleaning

Watch and wait for him

At the april window

Rain and leaves

Tick tick tick

Her thimble in the corner of her mouth

Her shadow secured

Her kiss tucked into a pocket

Ready to launch herself back out into the stars

Oh Pan!

Everlong, everyoung

And so she too will be

All the way to the end of days

The broken lifeline counting them out

One by one by one, then none

Tick tick tick

She will never be old

She tells her fortune to her open palm

Never never never






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