theAverageBard

Posting a new song tomorrow!

Ours is a Lonely World - Eli Crow

Lying in her silver linens
Oh, she’s so sure
She can find her silver lining on her own

In a sea of threads
That all look the same
From her bed.

I get so lonely.
I bet you do to.
Out of my mind.
Ours is a lonely world. 

I get so lonely.
I bet you do to.
Out of my mind.
Ours is a lonely world. 

Ours is a lonely world.

Hiding in her gilded cage alone,
Trying to find her pot of gold, 
She’ll never find it; the sad thing is she knows

That it’s all around her
But she’ll never find it
On her own. 

I get so lonely.
I bet you do to.
Out of my mind.
Ours is a lonely world. 

I get so lonely.
I bet you do to.
Out of my mind.
Ours is a lonely world. 

Ours is a lonely world.

But It don’t have to be, Gale.
No, it don’t have to be.
Oh, don’t run away from me, Gale.

Don’t 

I bet you do to.
Out of my mind.
Ours is a lonely world. 

I get so lonely.
I bet you do to.
Out of my mind.
Ours is a lonely world. 

Ours is a lonely world.

© Eli Crow 2011

reblog this if you listen to reign of kindo and I’ll follow you.

flirtmaster:

don’t reblog if you’ve never heard of them either! no me gusta!

(via believemeimcolin)

Carol Six

Carol’s pen relentlessly tore the blemish from the crisp, yellow legal pad. No flaw was safe; this had to be perfect. This would be the novel that would change the world forever. She had spent too much time, used too much energy, spilt too many emotions on it for it not to. Carol’s pen continued its scribbling.

These were the days when Carol was most productive. Remorse, regret, and recollection had a curious way of ameliorating her writer’s block. It wasn’t a happy cure though; It was the hot needle that goes through the fingernail to let the blood out. This blood, this pain is what makes a novel good, Carol thought.

Considering all of her prolific success as an author, one would expect Carol to feel quite fond of these days. But no, these are the days Carol won’t allow herself to feel anything; these are the days when her hands are too busy translating.

The day is not over. Her head is not empty. But alas her mug is. Coffee. I need coffee. Carol murmured to herself humorlessly. She hated the taste of the stuff, but it was a means to an end; Her fatigued hands commanded it. The bitter substance was naught but fuel. She marched to the kitchen and lazily dropped a filter into the machine and poured an indeterminate amount of grind into it. Carol’s eyes drifted slightly. A photo of a happy couple being tourists in Paris stared back. Damn it! Why did she keep that accursed photo?

She shivered and wiped the sweat off her face, or were they tears? She rattled and buckled and fell. She crept into the corner where the light from the study could not reach. Her face contorted unbelievably. A weight sat ominously on her lungs. She could not breathe. Tears of pain and blood poured down her face and onto the cold, hard, lifeless tile beneath her.

The machine beeped at her. Carol got up slowly and filled her cup with the bitter substance. And much in the same way, she filled her head with the pain and blood that so desperately wanted to escape. She couldn’t allow it to be wasted on the kitchen floor.

Carol’s hands wiped the tears off from her face. No time for them. She marched back to the legal pad and once again allowed her hands to translate.

Carol woke up calmly but uncomfortably from her desk. Red marks sprawled across her face. Sun shone through the blinds in happy stripes. Today would be a good day. Today would be an unproductive one. And Carol would be okay with that.

Carol the Fifth

Carol and Simon. Kisses. Wedding gown. Pregnancy. SIDS. A ledge. Carol.

Carol IV

Carol pulled up to the Italian restaurant down the street. Each car in the parking lot had a small, lonely dog, sitting faithfully and stupidly in the passenger’s seat. The young waitress held the door open for her, a presumed automatic gesture, but Carol smiled nonetheless. She stood in the lobby like the others, then sat and waited when a chair made itself available. O’Connors, party of one?  She got up and followed the waitress not fifteen feet to a table facing the entrance. Carol couldn’t get the waitress’s call out of her head, it dissonantly resonated in her skull, like the dole of a funeral bell. Carol, party of one? Carol, party of one? Carol, party of one? She shrugged it off. And how is your day today? Fine, thanks. Can I start you off with something to drink? Water. Okay I’ll be right back with that. Thanks. Carol watched as a happy family of five walked in the door: seemingly the only family of more than one these days, and certainly the only family in the restaurant. The mother gave the waitress their name and drifted back to the wall to watch over her youngest boy of three or four, Carol figured. She kept a loving hand on his shoulder. The boy was rocking back and forth impatiently, pulling his shirt every which way, contorting his neck, begging to be fed. Here’s your water. Thanks. Have you had time to look over the menu? No, not yet. I’ll be back in a minute then. Thank you. Carol took a sip and skimmed the menu. Antipasti, Zuppa e Insalata, Carne. The kid was staring at her, with that ever so familiar blank, inquisitive stare that kids often give. It was obnoxious. It was really obnoxious. It pierced her skin and gave her goosebumps. It tortured her. Have you decided on an entrée? Uhh… no, surprise me. Carol watched as the happy family was seated at their booth, still within sight although not terribly close. They looked so out of place by comparison, many of the tables had only two chairs and most of those were half empty. Carol mused for a moment. Maybe the tables were half occupied? No. They were definitely half empty. Here’s your moscardini lessati alla Genovese, like you ordered. Thanks. Can I get you anything else? No thanks. The call still resonated in her head. Carol, party of one? Carol, party of one? Carol, party of one? Carol hated the family, although as to why, she was reluctant to admit. The kid was staring at her again.

Check please.

Carol walked back out to her car, patted her lonely, faithful dog on the head, and drove home.