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Drabbles. Original work drabbles, not fannish ones. But maybe you'll read them anyway. Oh well, if you don't. Just bored, feeling like pounding out a few verses and couldn't quite focus long enough to write anything coherant. Hence, drabbles. Untitled, unrated, unknown WTF they are. But here they be:
1) Thick blue drapes cover the window, tinting the morning sunlight with shades of shadow, creating a moratorium gloom throughout the room. Midnight coverlets drawn across our bodies as we cling together, not for warmth or safety, but for comfort. Silk skin and liquid touch, our arms are locked fiercely to each other just as our lives are locked away from the space outside this room. His heartbeat reverberates through his touch, his breath, his kiss. His flesh is my flesh, his touch is my touch. This dream is mine…
And then I awake, cold and alone in a darkened room.
2) The sounds of sleeplessness thunder through the echoing blackness. The rustling of bedclothes, the heavy breaths of nightmare conquests, the soft wimpering as the painful day slides away into the too-short night. The glowing eyes of the digital clock are masked with thick black tape. The windows are covered with dark linen, nailed into the wooden frames to keep the darkness in as well as to keep the light out. Only darkness lives in this room, only darkness thrives. There is no calm, as the haunting faces and images of the day’s horrors flicker through my memory. Sleep won’t come.
1) Thick blue drapes cover the window, tinting the morning sunlight with shades of shadow, creating a moratorium gloom throughout the room. Midnight coverlets drawn across our bodies as we cling together, not for warmth or safety, but for comfort. Silk skin and liquid touch, our arms are locked fiercely to each other just as our lives are locked away from the space outside this room. His heartbeat reverberates through his touch, his breath, his kiss. His flesh is my flesh, his touch is my touch. This dream is mine…
And then I awake, cold and alone in a darkened room.
2) The sounds of sleeplessness thunder through the echoing blackness. The rustling of bedclothes, the heavy breaths of nightmare conquests, the soft wimpering as the painful day slides away into the too-short night. The glowing eyes of the digital clock are masked with thick black tape. The windows are covered with dark linen, nailed into the wooden frames to keep the darkness in as well as to keep the light out. Only darkness lives in this room, only darkness thrives. There is no calm, as the haunting faces and images of the day’s horrors flicker through my memory. Sleep won’t come.
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From:
no subject
*snuggles you*
From:
no subject
It's wierd how you can write something so detached from your conciousness, isn't it?
From:
no subject
I got spine tingles from that phrase, the kind I get from certain phrases in, oh, example, 'Under Milk Wood'. It works well read out loud too (yes, I just said it a couple of times- but I'm alone *grins*).
Hope you don't mind the beta-stylee comment, I know you weren't feeling great when you wrote these, hope you're doing better now.
*hug*
From:
no subject
I actually wasn't in too terrible of a mood when writing them, they just kinda popped out:)
From:
no subject
But perhaps I got the time line of when you were ill and when you wrote these mixed up.