Song Book

Writing Mad

The Fall
​
What is this feeling called again?

Often it presents a heavy heart,
Weighing down every flick on the wrist.
That describes some of it.

Some have told me that it is an inkling,
Something terrible is bound to happen.

Life is going too well right now.

At any second the fabric of my safety net is going to disintegrate beneath me.

That my perch on this building is gonna be tested with a precisely mistimed shove.

That maybe this time I won't catch myself.
Maybe I'll just let myself fall.
See how long until I reach the bottom.
Counting seconds I guess, but I mean who is going to judge that.
Maybe I'll land on a balcony.

And the owner will patch me up send me back on my climb
with a warning’ not to be so reckless.
Maybe I won't feel the pavement.

Writing Mad

In Sidereal.

The sea raged in wild discontent,
For the lonely night,
In her jelous spirit,
once again
had begoten the stars to replace such the moon.
The moon,
fare lune
Whose love was the sea.
Would not fully return for days.
In such times,
It would be naught to sail,
From any harbor on such
A coastal ni rocky shore,
Till the stars allow her to return.

Writing Mad

Card house

I live in a card-house
A strong wind could blow me down
Or even a light breath.

Its hard enough
To build
Without shaking hands
The voice like fingers
Around my neck.

I wish i could afford
Better materials
So it wouldnt fall so easily

But card supply
Is so low
Too expensive
I spend
All my time
Rebuilding

Writing Mad

His eyes the storm.

His eyes thundered and swirled,
with a genious I can barely perceive.
For those few minutes
I was a sailor adrift in his storm.
Both unable
and unwilling
to look away
from the waves and the clouds.
Falling back in love with his rain
when the lightning struck.

Writing Mad

Jealous

Like the night soaring up above,
And the callous wave to shore a shove.
Sinking deep below the jelous tide,
Unable to choose or pick a side.
An empty pit with hardend walls,
Refilling with the grace of waterfalls.
Floating just high enough,
So my feet no longer touch.

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

Yeah yeah. Christmas Yule. And moving took me by surprize this year. Ill have a post up when i have wifi set back up properly
@Dark Light

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

Lol, poor Anya.
And I forgot to tag you so here. @Dark Light

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

Анна

Anya didn't trust her, she didn't like any of what was going on. Her whimpering continued, and she stayed where she was, standing still, ready to dash again, she had met preditors before, and the woman's change in tone did nothing but keep her distant. Once more she withdrew another smaller bottle from her coat clutching onto it as if she was ready to throw it at either of them should they inch nearer. The young woman didn't wish to get anywhere near the woman. Instead, her mind was working to connect the dots between the woman and the man she swore she had once known. @Dark Light

"ведьма!"_witch! she called out poison in her words, as it was the only word she could describe the woman as.

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

@Dark Light

All i can think of is the music thats the running in circles music. The
" dooo doo dodododod dododo dododod" music you know

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

Анна

Sensing the bar keeps movement in accordance with the loud sound she retreated farther again through the tavern. Dashing up across on of the fsrther set tables much faster than those of a heavier weight or slower agility than the wild girl had. Even if clayton had reached her fast enough to catch something of hers hed be met with only easily tearable chunks of fur from the coat as it swung about on her frame during her own movements. The bottle once clutched in her hand had been droped at the sudden sound and made its way to the floor as she moved. If it was to hit, its remaining contents would splatter and their effects to any but Anya would be unknown. Its smell again seemingly the one most had come to associate with the feral girls appearance. Perhaps it was the source. @Dark Light

Clambering then back farther from the two still even after his initial lunge. Keeping tables and chairs of the tavern between them. She had lest let out much of a sound, more of a continuous whimper. One that had rought feral beasts from lunges before and would usualy bring such to her own aid. It is also from there one would notice the lack of her boots on her feet, the calluses that decorated them, the burns and bruises that truely dotted her skin when it is revealed werent often noticed. Hidden by dried mud, dirt, or even ash, but for the most observant they were there clearly, and one could only think how far they extended.