TM - so niceAnd he looks out across the dinner table, littered with guns and money and lit candles in elegant candelabras, and he marvels in the smiling faces of this, his family.For a second, he thinks he sees their pain, burning in their eyes. Tales of shattered households and children of circumstance. Lost parents, betrayals, empty windows......things that hurt to even know they exist. He thinks about them. About his own tragedies. He remembers the bloodshed. The sounds of shells hitting the marble tiles. The screams echoing throughout a wide and lifeless house.He remembers the silence.Tears begin to cloud his brown eyes, because oh god it hurts to still be alive.He can't remember the last time he cried so much.He thinks it was in the rain, the tears were too cold and too much to all be his.His scar burns as a warm tear traces it down his face.He can't remember what it's like to be alone because it's a feeling he had never forgotte
TM-We HaveSo we've been broken.So we've sinned.So we've struggled.So we've lied.So we've killed.So we've cried.So we've cheated.So we've ran.We are what we are.So we've been pieced back together.So we've repented.So we've risen to the top.So we've spilled the truth.So we've let live.So we've smiled.So we've played fair.So we've stood our ground.We are what we've become.So we've realized our pain.So we've achieved our goals.So we've stood out among the crowd.So we've created our own path.So we've grown stronger.So we have become one in the same. Family.</b>
TM: Children of Music Oh...God...What time is it? I wonder, blinking against the streams of light hitting me right in the eyes. Rolling on my stomach, looking at the clock, I discover I've slept half my day away. I huff out a sigh; what does it matter, anyway? Everyone's probably already gone. I roll out of bed. No, literally; my sense of direction in the morning is terrible. With a soft grumble, I peel myself from the floor and trudge across the room to the door. I trip over my pajama bottoms on the way to the kitchen, since they're about a size too big. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I nearly ram into the doorframe of the family room. Geez; I'm a walking hazard. I catch a movement, deeper in the room and look up. Gepetto stirs lightly in the high back chair in which he's resting, fingers poised over a giant, beautiful cello. The polished wood gleams like a well-kept gem. Whi
The Babysitter Beneath my fingers, the fabric of my shirt is soft, slightly stiff, free of wrinkles. On the collar, a small, subtle quaver printed there. I rub my thumb over it before I shrug on the shirt, doing the buttons with my bandaged hands. Theyre almost always wrapped as of late. In part, I blame my klutz like tendencies; though theres really nothing I can do about that. I move to my closet and muse through my ties, the silky cloths nearly slithering free as I fingered through them. Theres a rare few that dont have music notes on them; like the ones with text on them instead, or hibiscus. It all really depends on my mood. I debate briefly on the white tie with colorful notes or the solid blue tie with a single note made up of smaller notes. Flipping up my collar, I slip the blue tie around my neck and attempt to slide the rejected tie back onto the rack without causing the others to fall free. I have to redo t
Hope for the Heartless Legato! Jezebel! Get down here! Tyberius voice rings out, through the house, through the walls. Oh, great. Im almost certain I know what he wants to gripe about. But the plush arm chair Im nested in seems to have wrapped large, warm arms around me, not wanting to let me go. Whatd it take to get some peace and quiet in this house, lately? It takes me a second to get my limbs, weak with comfort, to respond. I lazily stroll down the hall, hearing Jezebels impatient stride far ahead of me. At least I have the mind to check myself, making sure I was presentable before I stepped foot in the Dons office. Jezebel tenses as I fall in next to her, giving her a rigid, ready-to-pounce effect. Tyberius has both hands flat against his desk, staring down into it before he lifts his eyes to us. Whats the deal, ladies? He asks, tone riding the edge
TM-Absent AnimaA cherry wood box. The smell of sweat pea. Shattering of glass over head.Please, father, no more. Saltwater drops. Blurring ink. An emptiness.The pain is not yours alone. Angry words. Terrible images. Then quiet once more.Three times over again, round and round we go. An empty surprise. Longing, reaching fingers. Left uselessly.Forgotten.
This Is HomeHearts connected with silk strings,Nights spent with laughter, smiles,Along with miles of silly things.Minds molded with a careful hand,Thoughts and feelings aligned,While together well forever stand.Souls bonded with time,Keep moving forward,And well all turn out fine.Futures tied with a hint of fate,Time for our happy ending,Hope you wont be late.
TM-BirdheartIts the music that she hears the most. The city lights are her lullaby because the melody of her mother nursing herself to a bottle of cheap whiskey scratches at her ears. So off she went when the moon was high, shadow doubts following close behind but she did not care.She did not care because she was free.With birdsong she flitted to places shed remember in her mindeyes forever. She flitted until she could not fly anymore. Solitude heavy on the heart, too heavy for wings to bear, too heavy to lift into the air.With no nest she could not rest. She sang with soft mumbles and searching glances and an empty belly that clawed and gnawed and ate her insides.She thought she was free.She crash landed in a paradise lost with dirty hair and broken shoelaces. She watched people buy forbidden fruits and slip them across their lips, sliding across hips and thighs. There were moans of joy and ecstasy and of sleepless dancing that fueled the night into morning.So she flew
Restless Nights So Ill see you soon? I ask, forcing a smile. Jezebel stops on the front porch, turning to me; still trapped in the doorway, trying not to fidget with my tie. She smiles, steps forward and fixes it, along with the collar, which she folds down just so. Of course, She replies. Our promise: be back soon, come back safe. For a moment she hovers, but then she steps back, knowing itd be harder for the both of us is she prolonged the departure. Once her car kicks up dust and moves out of sight, I feel my shoulders slump. A steady hand rests on my shoulder; comfortable, familiar. I dont even have to look up to know who it is. Shell be back soon, Sis, He murmurs. My brows furrow for a moment. Then I bite into my cheek, turning into him. His arms wrap around me securely, while mine are loose, holding onto the back of his jacket for support. I press