apirate
When one single and another single come together and the match is so completely perfect, you can't imagine the end. You can't imagine that there could be an end. But there always is. And when that end comes, it seems as natural and as right as the original coming together. How weak a thing it is.
Charlie the pudding. With his bright red, curly hair, his pale, freckled-covered skin, his posh english accent and his slight pudge, Charlie is the pudding. He is our pudding. I never knew such a strange pudding, or such a strange Charlie.
Is it spiked? It's only fun when it's spiked. It is, yes. Tonight is going to be a fun night.
Cameron. That boy. He kissed her, in front of me. That boy took my girl's face and kissed it. And there was nothing I could do about it. I hate that boy. He doesn't know what he did, he doesn't know the way I could have hurt him in that moment, he only knows that she pushed him away. She pushed him away. I love that girl.
There is no up, only down. I walk ahead, straight, then i turn around, back. There is no left, there is no right. Only forwards. Always forwards. But sometimes forwards isn't enough. Sometimes i crave the change. Sometimes, i want to move up.
Push it, slowly, very slighty. Push it till it tilts. Pour it, slowly, very cautiously. Pour it till it's full. Tip it, solwly, very gently. Tip it till it empties.
To be pushed. Pushed. I pushed it. I pushed it too hard. It has been pushed, it has been pushed away from me. It's rolling, away, away from safety, towards danger. A cry, a wail, a screech, a collision. Pushed. Pushed away.
writing since 2010 · 8 entries · 8 days shown up
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pushednamerememberpuddinghearhurtblacktillforwardssometimesboycharliedangerpushslowlypour