<font face="arial" color="gainsboro" size="1">someone said that you're fading too soon.</font></font> -- Corridors and Passageways

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Date Posted: 22:04:45 05/19/02 Sun
Author: Julian Emberson
Subject: someone said that you're fading too soon.

Porcelain
Are you wasting away in your skin
Are you missing the love of your kin

The words floated into his head, heavy with emotion to him as words poured out like tears from the pen he held. He sat, back flat against the wall of whatever corridor he'd fallen, limp with alcohol in. His head was bent, depressed slant above the notebook on his leg. The opposite leg was stretched rudely out in front of him, caring less about anybody tripping over it than anybody coming. Or perhaps he was unaware of both due to the intoxication of the bottle of Chivas Regal he'd down earlier in the tower, now affecting him as he walked back. Oddly, as he had sat there for fifteen minutes holding his head against his knees, he had subconsciously pulled his notebook out and begun writing. His eyes watered, blurry, but he wrote down word upon word, spilling and blotting in places when he'd lose his concentration. But the emotions never vanished. The song poured in an idyll that fueled his writing, because he could not reach the peace of the song. Not until he got it all out.

His arm drew up to let the saltwater be soaked into the fabric on his arms, eyes narrowing to focus. This was a hidden purpose; it needed to be done regardless of conflicts that may arise as he wrote them down. He knew somehow he wouldn't end up finishing, but if it became that way at least there would be one to finish it for him. In time, they would have to end it. The poem drained him of the emotion, sure to make him cry but never to feel the same. What he needed was to get them out so that, if the world could be so very kind, he could go on. There wasn't really much point but the thoughts that haunt him, but they haunt him nonetheless. Forbid him to move on. His hand clutched at the notebook, forcing it to stay steady on his quivering leg. Lashes dipped fighting to finalize the regretful strokes being painted onto the faint blue lines in the notebook. The earphones blasting otherwise calming music rang in his ears, whispering finish finish finish inbetween the words. Anthony Kiedis mocked him and urged him but the pen felt so... very... heavy...

Drifting and floating and fading away...

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