S

She looks out from under the curtain of her burnt bangs.
Morbid split ends fall in her eyes, dyed and dead.
That's how it all feels now.
Dead.
Dry.
B U R N T.
This hell hole of a town is ripping the life from her bones.
Her blood pumps through dry veins.
Her new, short, burnt, dead hair scrapes harshly against her cheek as she watches herself crush her own dreams.
Who knew that living your dreams meant murdering them?
She knows, as does everyone else, that she will never be more than a Disney Princess.
Now she needs to accept that.
Until then, she looks out from under the curtain of her burnt bangs,
and lets the morbid split ends fall into her eyes, dyed and dead.

G

J

He looks out from beneath an ocean of torn innocence.
He was fooled by a mistress of lust.
He forgot that he is still a little boy, capable of feeling the freezing burn of pain.
He still feels her lips
sliding
across
his
neck,
her smooth fingers, dipping to forbidden places
deep
within
his
S O U L.
He watches his breath fog up the glass
as his poison tears splash down on the frame of her vindictive laughter.
He was used,
fooled.
Because of her,
he looks out from beneath an ocean of shredded innocence, and
yearns for his mistress of lust.

J

K

He looks out from a blinding sheet of love.
He is oblivious to all else.
All except his world,
majestic
in her shining curls and plump lips.
All he sees is the ring that rests on her tender finger.
He forgets to see his brothers, drowning in deceit and naïve crushed hopes.
He tastes her glossed lips on his tongue,
more familiar than the strings of his guitar.
She is his
L I F E
now.
And he believes he is hers.
She will break him.
Until he shatters,
he looks out from a blinding sheet of love,
wrapped in his love's shining curls, and viciously glossed
lips.

J

D

She looks out from a barred window of disbelief.
She rests her head against the fiery glass of the clouded window to her
heaven
and
hell.
She sees her dreams play out before her, race just a few steps ahead.
She is so close she can taste it,
sprinting.
Leaving all else behind.
She fails to see the edge of the cliff of Hollywood's snare.
Soon she will fall over the edge, splintering into the same broken,
D I S B E L I E V I N G
fragments as all of those before her.
Until she sees that her dreams will never stay a reality,
She looks out from a barred window of disbelief
and rests her head against the fiery glass of the clouded window to her
heaven
and
hell.

L

N

He looks out from under his veil of lies.
They crack over the crown of his head, trickle like blood down his neck, and drip over his body like the imaginary heat of her nails raking trails down his skin.
Everyday, he gets up and lies.
He sits in that chair, and gets on that stage, and lies.
His words are empty falsities that no one seems to notice…
except for her.
The empty sound echoes around his brain, reverberating through his body.
The screams from those hypnotized, mindless fools slam into his temples like millions of sledgehammers, threatening to break him into pieces.
But still he lies.
She makes him want to tell the truth.
He can't.
He can't.
Her pleading rings in his ears as he stares blankly at the false reflection in the mirror.
L I E S.
As his eyelids slowly slide shut, he looks out from under his veil of lies,
and lets himself imagine the heat of her nails raking tracks into the imaginary tickles of his lies.

J

M

She looks out from under an iron smile.
Her face is a metal mask of bright happiness;
Never-fading smiles and round dimples.
No one realizes that her eyes are dead.
No one sees…
except for him.
He pretends not to notice the screaming from her shut lips.
Every false word that drips from his perfect lips drives a knife ever deeper into her
liquid heart.
She feels the padlock
close around her
arms,
binding her hands to her sides,
when all they want to do is reach up and
R I P
the smile from her lips.
She wants to feel his calloused fingers rip it off for her, tearing off his lies as he goes.
But he won't.
And she can't.
So she waits, looking out from under an iron smile,
and believing that he is afraid of her metal mask of happiness and her dead eyes.

C

Six

pairs

of

Impaired Eyes.

What d'you think? I'm really, really proud of this one. It turned out exactly how I wanted it.

Hardly anyone reviewed "Storms In Flashing Lights." Why? Was it bad, guys? Nine reviews is hardly any at all...

Please review this one. P l e a s e.xx

Jen

swinglifewayxx

(used to be jss2420)