Literally-nemo - WillowTree Music

Children’s story I wrote for school Illustration credit to Sarah Franken

WillowTree

WillowTree

WillowTree's accounts for music

Eurydice's Footprints is live! Check it out wherever you get your music.

please dont make disney characters have tattoos and piercings and blackhair and stretchers

please

stop

This. This this. Thisedy this this thisen thiser this this.

Christmas wish

Teddy

I was there when you said your first word Your mother’s laughs of joy being painted into the walls Your father’s smile combing them with the scent of pride Your words ever floating, hanging in the air

I was there when you had your first kiss Your dream-induced eyes engaged with mine Your entranced lips telling me all about his Your hair a mess from running your hands through it for excitement

I was there when you had your first breakup When your eyes dripped of uncertain loss Your cheeks like early morning dew from your river of tears My fur a mess from crying into me, no more of a help than a punching bag

I was there when your parents told you what was going to happen How they still loved you, no matter what Your hands trembling on my soft arms Your indignant sobs of unbelief thrown at the door behind them

I was there when you had your first time The soft words of passion mixing with the powerful hands of lust Your uncertainty, your reluctancy, your anxiety His response when you refused

I was there when you cut yourself for the first time Your tears of self-malice ripping down the fabric of your cheek The first drops of siphoned blood falling on my body Your heaving cough from your third Or fourth Or fifth cigarette Of that day

I was there when you brought home the first customer Your dead Empty Expression writing believable lies filled with contempt and self-pity Entrancing him for the sake of money’s worth The monster that lay deep within I remember seeing for what wasn’t the first time

I was there when you brought home the pills Your hair a mess, your cheeks like glacial rivers, your hands trembling Your uncertainty, your rage, your decision

Your words ever floating, Hanging in the air

Little thing I wrote

Everything is silent Her bed-springs creak as she sits up; The fresh November breeze tickling her spine The room is dark Her hands skillfully search for something with which to cover herself; Going through the well-practiced motions The door creaks behind her It locks smoothly as she turns to take it in; The night for which she so longs Her eyes are tired Though her face, her body, her aura, all come to life; Her entity awakening from the daily sleep She is in complete control Her mind gluttonously takes in deep spoonfulls of the stillness of it all; Her lungs greedily absorb the crisp autumn air The moon is working hard The reflection of himself portraying her path as she perceives it; The sun guiding her, though unseen An elderly man approaches His eyes linger on hers, uncertain of their paths; She peers into his soul He radiates regret Her soft, warm smile greets his with nonverbal pleasantries; Their minds meet at the definition of understanding Vexed by a sound A crack in the wall of silence robs her of her attention; With dog-like ears, she follows where they lead A stream reveals the rocks Those that slow and split the water; She loves how they control the chaos Her chest rises and falls The freshness of the water stealing her mind; Like a drug, makes her forget reality A new tree has been planted Her feet are roots, her arms are branches; She falls somberly, passively among the copes

jessica pineda