(no subject)

[http://users.livejournal.com/_pale_ghost_/]

A young-old face that was serene-melancholy. So thin, so colorless, as if he'd had to give the very substance of himself to stay alive, curled up on one end of a couch. His smooth cheek pressed against his bent arm, showing pale blue moon eyes set back in gray hollows of bone. His voice was torn silk and night-blooming jasmine, and it more than made up for the rest of him, singin'. . .

"Like a bird onna wire, Like a drunk inna midnigh' choir,
I have tried in m'way to be free.
Like a fish onna hook Like a knigh' from an old fashion book
I have saved all my ribbons w' thee."

He tried hard not to start wishin' for an old six-string, or a set of fingers that would strum the song to life. He tried, and wasn't doin' so good at it.