Fei-sama

"How foudroyant," she says, and I cannot help but think that what I find overwhelming is her choice of words. The word, as unused as it is, rolls perfectly from her lips and I once again recall her husband to have been a professor of orthoepy before his untimely passing. "Yes, well," I tell her, "the painting is one of my finest." "It is strange how pictures can say more than words sometimes," she remarks dismissively, manicured fingers curling loosely around a closed fan. "How… piquant." "It is not strange at all," I say. "In fact, words can be far more cryptic than a picture, m'lady." "Explain yourself," she orders lazily, disbelie

It comes creeping, into you. You're left weeping, with nothing to do. Your life is switched off and you feel like nothing will be alright. You don't heal. It's do-o-own time, the start of decline, you're dead and awake and that's your life. You can't breathe, you can't scream, and all you wish to do is sleep and sleep. Sometimes it takes days before you wake up and feel alive, surface from a dark dive. You're stuck where you're standing right now. You don't know where to go or how. It's do-o-own time, the start of decline, you're dead and awake and that's your life. You can't breathe, you can't scream, and all you w

I was alone. Then I found you, abandoned, in an alley outside. The burning sun was to you worse than any rain. So I took you in, not knowing your name. You were a replacement, one in a series of many; a replacement to someone else I had lost before you. I took care of your burnt skin and hurt heart and torn soul. I wiped your endless tears and held you when you broke apart. My hands were what kept you from drowning, my voice made you deaf to everything else. I was the waking hour and the starting night, I was your safety and your guard. I was your hope and your guide. How many times did I listen to you? How many times did I remind you of a

You walk on a street with faceless people surrounding you. You don't know anyone. You don't even know yourself. You're living your life half-afraid, half-suicidal, twirling around like a charlatan in a masquerade. Your name has been slandered and magazines are full of libel and the people believe, because it's easy to believe the worst of what is strange. You see your Future married to a cloud of confusion and fear, while Present sits down to enjoy the macabre play of a sardonic tragedy come true. Actors, each one wearing a face like yours, die and kill in turns, and you watch still, too afraid to move. The broken bike on the floor might as

Time can erase all the wounds it wants, but your memory will still be here. It doesn't matter that you're already dead, I just need to keep you always near. Living in a world where you are no more, is weird - I don't know what to do. I expect you to be the one to open the door, but nowadays it's never you. When will I stop waiting for your ghost? Shall I wait for it for years to come? Without you I'm feeling weak and lost, never knew I could feel so numb. You are a part of my soul, a voice in my mind, another man like you, I will never find. You are, never truly gone, never out of my life, I will be forever the dead man's w

Not the words you say, not the words you hear, that peel your skin away and bathe you in fear. Sinister smiles, laughing lips, touching your mind with cold fingertips, words smoother than silk, love corporeal, a hated portrait of a face so dear. Kisses unwilling, chilling, killing, your life is scary, not thrilling, Your steps are shallow, not steady, you're afraid, not ready. This is your life, your contagious lie. A mad crusade, sardonic charade, injured parade, sick, sick trade. Your laugh is your scream, your glow is your tear, drown in your dream - all you have is your fear The frames of your life are plastic, the b

"I love myself," April suddenly says, and June almost chokes on his tea. August stops staring at the suicide rates of the world in a magazine and looks up at her brother. "I wish I could say the same," she mutters. "But alas, I cannot." "Aren't you a tad bit too arrogant?" June asks, and April shrugs. "But I'm too magnificent," he says simply. "My Latinized name 'Aphrilis' is from 'Aphrodite', which leads me to believe that even ancient Greeks knew how to appreciate my greatness." "At least seventeen wars were started or ended during your watch," August tells him. "Isn't that depressing? Makes one wonder about the way you watch out for tr