Some smoop...
Dec. 1st, 2004 12:49 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
sadness1986.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rugbytackleI've been in a very, very strange mood. *scratches head thoughtfully* Very strange indeed.
So this strange little songfic poored out of my even more strange mind...
But: I finally got rid of my f*ing Internet explorer! Yay me! Firefox forever!
*bounces off to stranger heavens*
Viggo-muse: *frowns little cute frown*
Bean-muse: *glare big bad deathglare*
TITLE: Love me to the end
AUTHOR: Sadness1986
PAIRING: SB/ VM
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: angst, smoop, AU
DISCLAIMER: 100% fiction, lyrics and title from the album "Love me to the end" by "Deine Lakaien".
SUMMARY: No use to turn out the lights
you feel so depressed inside
when you think of your wasted years at night
NOTES: I'm in love with unworldly! Viggo. *cuddles him just to get smacked by protective! Beanie*
Trapped you pace in your bedroom, looking at your reflection in the smooth dark of the windows just briefly, not bearing the image of your scrawny, pale body, of your haunted eyes, of the lines of sorrow embedded in your skin.
You feel as empty as the left side of your double bed is since a month. Your wife left you after fifteen years of marriage. The woman you loved with all your heart once, left you and took the most important person in your life, your little son with her.
She just vanished, when you where out of town in a well-known gallery at the opening of your exhibition. "You are a dreamer", she used to say, once with a soft smile of love, later with a sneer.
Now you look back at the mess of your life: artist, not very successful, but it has always been enough to survive, there had been hard times, when you went to bed, hungry and cold, because you couldn't afford the bill for the heating system, your wife either yelling hysterically at you or not talking to you for days, the baby crying, because of stomach cramps and teeth. The last step had been selling your house in the wilderness of Idaho and moving back to Manhattan, where you've been born, into a small apartment.
But there were good times, too, when you came home with your pockets full of money, a bottle of wine, some jewellery and flowers for your wife, celebrating with sex, holding her exhausted, warm, soft body in the dark, happy and contend.
Just sometimes, when the world got quiet around you, leaving you enough peace to finally think clearly, you mourned for pieces of art, pieces of your life, pieces of yourself, you sold to arrogant rich bastards to hang them into their lofts to impress their brainless lady-friends.
Before the walls seem to crush you, you grab your coat and all but run into the cold winter-evening air.
Walking down this well known street
turning 'round for ladies feet
like you did so many years ago
sitting in that street cafe
where you had your cup of tea
come on boy don't get sentimental now
everything changed but you didn't move on
and the only fact is
that you're fifteen years older now
The tea is as stale as it ever was, the air is thick with smoke as it ever was, but you don't recognise the faces of the people around you, nor the music playing.
As if time around you had stayed still. You were busy with bills and loans and your art, that you didn't see the world changing around you.
Now you are as out of place as the clothes you wear, as your haircut, your bike and your attitude. Trying to catch up with some conversations around you, you realise, that you hardly know, what they are talking about.
You can't catch up with fifteen years in this quickly changing world, you feel lost, longing for this grounded, carefree spirit you felt once in Idaho, longing to be alive again.
At the moment your world has narrowed to the ring of murky tea, your leaking cup left on the greasy table and you swipe it away with your palm, before leaving without paying.
You stride through the busy city, your eyes eagerly searching a something or someone familiar, but you find no hold, keep drifting away. Then you see the familiar neon signs an d you step into a place, you were familiar with once.
Standing in your discotheque
look since hours straight ahead
play the part of some young and lonesome star
introverted more and more
waiting for a small hello
people next to you they seem so far
but deep inside you made love to the world
'cause your imagination
was bigger than reality
You just wanted to be someone special, not plain, not ordinary, you wanted to change the whole world, studied politics, felt strong and enthusiastic enough to try... and you despaired, drew back into a kind of exile with your family, far away from the big towns and you finally lost the touch with reality, creating visions in your mind, visions of a better world, a world in which people knew, that there's no reason to stay angry forever, to start wars and oppression, where everybody had the same rights, young and old, male or female, black or white.
You are still in love with the words "United Nations". You love the concept, the sound of it, the theory, you could clearly see behind this phrase. The simplicity of peace.
The noisy, strange music hurts your fine hearing and you frown at your glass of rum, then suddenly a scrawny girl clad in high leather boots, bra and a mini-skirt, that looks more like a broad belt, tugs at the sleeve of your plaid shirt, ruffles your long, untidy hair and screams into your ear: "Grunge is so dead, man!"
Confused you shake her off and storm out into the cold night-air, struggling for breath as everything seems to crumble down, crushing you and you scream soundlessly into your empty hands.
When you came into that town
you found everything so fine
all your projects shall be realised
but your day-dreams strangled you
kept you from what you had to do
and life went on while you paralysed
heaven knows you would give all you have
for the change to go back to those days for a new beginning
But there is no turning back for you, no strength for a new beginning. You lost it, because you didn't recognise, that there's no use to run with your head first into century-old walls of habit, power, prejudice and hate. Because they won't change and if someone says, he changed them, you discovered just fresh paint on old manifests of stone.
You are misplaced in this world, you feel it, you know it, you hate it as much as you hate yourself, no, there's no self-pity here, just disgusted observation, the same you felt once as you fell in love with a man for the first time, fell in love with your best mate, a stunning boy, blond, tall, muscular, with a smile brighter and warmer as sunshine, but as dangerous.
You never told him, been a coward all your life. Lost him slowly, till he slipped through your fingers like sand so many years ago.
Lovingly you smile at the colourful lights of the nightly city, you loved so much as a teenager, as you climb up the steel construction of the bridge.
No use to turn out the lights
you feel so depressed inside
when you think of your wasted years at night
The water looks like ink.
Such a long way to fall.
But you are not afraid.
You have been falling all your life.
One last time you will.
Deeply.
Water as hard as stone
will break every bone
in your weary body
and will drown the rest.
Nobody will miss you.
Nobody will cry.
Nobody will be sad.
It's okay.
You never
wanted to hurt anybody.
"Sean, I love you", you whisper
and wonder, what he will look like now.
"I wish, I could see you smile just once again..."
Better you leave the places of your past
'cause dreamers love cities and cities hate dreamers
Down down down
Walked through the sand, the sand, soft and white
and felt the sun, the sun, warm and bright
and saw the ocean, ocean blue
and thoughts, thoughts, came
thoughts of you...
He was barefoot, you remember, a silent, calm and soothing presence like the sunshine's warmth on your skin and his eyes as blue as the sea.
You met him at an exhibition of his paintings.
You bought all of them, spellbound by their radiant energy, their depth and intensity, their beauty, their voiceless siren call.
Then you saw him. Barefoot, confused, looking perfectly out of place: a tall scrawny man clad in an over-sized, paint-splattered shirt and ratty jeans and with notes written with a black waterproof marker all over his left hand and forearm.
For he had the same aura as those paintings. You found the artist.
Following him out to the balcony you exchanged a cigarette and small talk with him, but later he was laughing with you and then falling silent with respect of the marvellous sunset.
Down, down, down
I'm feeling down
Down, down, down
I'm feeling down
You let him vanishing as quietly from your life as you let him in: barefoot, wordless and afraid.
First you didn't recognise the change, your life as an actor is a busy one. Then there were women, many, too many to remember their faces and names. Then alcohol. Later drugs.
You are clean since a while, but still yearning, yearning for something, that fame, drugs and sex couldn't give you.
Peace, utter peace, this feeling of belonging somewhere, to be able to rest, just to be yourself and not a character, not the actor, not the sex-symbol.
Just you, plain, bare and naked you with all odds and bad habits and accent and mistakes and not perfect at all, able to take off this mask of thousand faces and able to know which one was your own once.
And felt the beat, the beat, strong and loud
As I was dancing amidst the crowd
and my surrounding seemed out of view
And thoughts and thoughts came
thoughts of you...
You fled from the premiere party last night and kept walking, walking seemingly aimless through half-dark, light-polluted streets.
But your feet knew, they knew perfectly well, how to lead you to the sea, back to the beach, back to the place, where everything changed for you, back to the memories you fear, back to the knowledge, that you fell in love, fell in love right here... with him.
His images follows you everywhere, everything seems to remind you of him.
Suddenly you know, what you used all those women, those bottles of liquor, all those roles for: to forget him, to forget, that you love him, that you are in love with a man, crave for his touch, his smile, voice and scent.
He had questions in his eyes, but you had no answer. No your mind is screaming it at you: I love you, please don't go, please don't ever go...
Slowly you collapse on the sand and scream your pain into the face of this new day.
See me, see me, down on my knees
come back, come back, come back please
I saw the world and found no reply
Tell me, tell me, tell me why... ?
You barely feel the plane rise from the ground, your eyes are staring at images, you kept buried in your mind for such a long time:
Moonlight touching his pale-bronze skin, his muscled back, his cute little ass, his long legs, when he stepped naked into the waves, smiling at you.
Your gaze swallowed him like the sea, when he dived into the glistening water.
Walk to the moon
Setting out
Restless motion
Beyond the horizons
Lands must be golden
Brother by the hand
Pure heart trusting in
Shining eyes when he looked up at him
Now Sean sees him, but barely recognises him anymore, because he's already fading, standing there, gathering all strength, that is left to take the final step out of this world.
"No!", he screams and Viggo turns around, eyes bathed in starlight, too bright to be real.
"Sean?", he whispers unbelievingly, but finally falls takes the offered hand, pale and golden. Their embrace is fierce, lacking gentleness, controlled by despair and longing, but finally Viggo dares to look up, praying, that this isn't a dream and Sean just smiles wants to lead him away from this world, he's not made for, their love is not made for and together they step forward on the rays of moonlight, that can't carry them.
Come on let's walk to the moon
Come on let's walk to the moon
It's their choice to leave, what is called life, to go to an unknown place, but they are not afraid anymore, not afraid, because even the forensic medical doctor can't release their entwined fingers without breaking them.
Freedom of choice
Triumph of the will
God made his joke keeping still
Signs by the wayside
Leading to nowhere
Winter came bringing hidden despair
The answer is silence, the answer is helplessness, the answers are just a try but without meaning. The meaning remains hidden behind closed eyelids, safe under resting lashes, trapped between silent lips without a whisper.
Hazy shapes
On an endless pain
Illusions of freedom
In nature's game
And the stars hide their lights
You can't see them weep
The air was silent
And they fell asleep
Love me love me to the end...
So this strange little songfic poored out of my even more strange mind...
But: I finally got rid of my f*ing Internet explorer! Yay me! Firefox forever!
*bounces off to stranger heavens*
Viggo-muse: *frowns little cute frown*
Bean-muse: *glare big bad deathglare*
TITLE: Love me to the end
AUTHOR: Sadness1986
PAIRING: SB/ VM
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: angst, smoop, AU
DISCLAIMER: 100% fiction, lyrics and title from the album "Love me to the end" by "Deine Lakaien".
SUMMARY: No use to turn out the lights
you feel so depressed inside
when you think of your wasted years at night
NOTES: I'm in love with unworldly! Viggo. *cuddles him just to get smacked by protective! Beanie*
Trapped you pace in your bedroom, looking at your reflection in the smooth dark of the windows just briefly, not bearing the image of your scrawny, pale body, of your haunted eyes, of the lines of sorrow embedded in your skin.
You feel as empty as the left side of your double bed is since a month. Your wife left you after fifteen years of marriage. The woman you loved with all your heart once, left you and took the most important person in your life, your little son with her.
She just vanished, when you where out of town in a well-known gallery at the opening of your exhibition. "You are a dreamer", she used to say, once with a soft smile of love, later with a sneer.
Now you look back at the mess of your life: artist, not very successful, but it has always been enough to survive, there had been hard times, when you went to bed, hungry and cold, because you couldn't afford the bill for the heating system, your wife either yelling hysterically at you or not talking to you for days, the baby crying, because of stomach cramps and teeth. The last step had been selling your house in the wilderness of Idaho and moving back to Manhattan, where you've been born, into a small apartment.
But there were good times, too, when you came home with your pockets full of money, a bottle of wine, some jewellery and flowers for your wife, celebrating with sex, holding her exhausted, warm, soft body in the dark, happy and contend.
Just sometimes, when the world got quiet around you, leaving you enough peace to finally think clearly, you mourned for pieces of art, pieces of your life, pieces of yourself, you sold to arrogant rich bastards to hang them into their lofts to impress their brainless lady-friends.
Before the walls seem to crush you, you grab your coat and all but run into the cold winter-evening air.
Walking down this well known street
turning 'round for ladies feet
like you did so many years ago
sitting in that street cafe
where you had your cup of tea
come on boy don't get sentimental now
everything changed but you didn't move on
and the only fact is
that you're fifteen years older now
The tea is as stale as it ever was, the air is thick with smoke as it ever was, but you don't recognise the faces of the people around you, nor the music playing.
As if time around you had stayed still. You were busy with bills and loans and your art, that you didn't see the world changing around you.
Now you are as out of place as the clothes you wear, as your haircut, your bike and your attitude. Trying to catch up with some conversations around you, you realise, that you hardly know, what they are talking about.
You can't catch up with fifteen years in this quickly changing world, you feel lost, longing for this grounded, carefree spirit you felt once in Idaho, longing to be alive again.
At the moment your world has narrowed to the ring of murky tea, your leaking cup left on the greasy table and you swipe it away with your palm, before leaving without paying.
You stride through the busy city, your eyes eagerly searching a something or someone familiar, but you find no hold, keep drifting away. Then you see the familiar neon signs an d you step into a place, you were familiar with once.
Standing in your discotheque
look since hours straight ahead
play the part of some young and lonesome star
introverted more and more
waiting for a small hello
people next to you they seem so far
but deep inside you made love to the world
'cause your imagination
was bigger than reality
You just wanted to be someone special, not plain, not ordinary, you wanted to change the whole world, studied politics, felt strong and enthusiastic enough to try... and you despaired, drew back into a kind of exile with your family, far away from the big towns and you finally lost the touch with reality, creating visions in your mind, visions of a better world, a world in which people knew, that there's no reason to stay angry forever, to start wars and oppression, where everybody had the same rights, young and old, male or female, black or white.
You are still in love with the words "United Nations". You love the concept, the sound of it, the theory, you could clearly see behind this phrase. The simplicity of peace.
The noisy, strange music hurts your fine hearing and you frown at your glass of rum, then suddenly a scrawny girl clad in high leather boots, bra and a mini-skirt, that looks more like a broad belt, tugs at the sleeve of your plaid shirt, ruffles your long, untidy hair and screams into your ear: "Grunge is so dead, man!"
Confused you shake her off and storm out into the cold night-air, struggling for breath as everything seems to crumble down, crushing you and you scream soundlessly into your empty hands.
When you came into that town
you found everything so fine
all your projects shall be realised
but your day-dreams strangled you
kept you from what you had to do
and life went on while you paralysed
heaven knows you would give all you have
for the change to go back to those days for a new beginning
But there is no turning back for you, no strength for a new beginning. You lost it, because you didn't recognise, that there's no use to run with your head first into century-old walls of habit, power, prejudice and hate. Because they won't change and if someone says, he changed them, you discovered just fresh paint on old manifests of stone.
You are misplaced in this world, you feel it, you know it, you hate it as much as you hate yourself, no, there's no self-pity here, just disgusted observation, the same you felt once as you fell in love with a man for the first time, fell in love with your best mate, a stunning boy, blond, tall, muscular, with a smile brighter and warmer as sunshine, but as dangerous.
You never told him, been a coward all your life. Lost him slowly, till he slipped through your fingers like sand so many years ago.
Lovingly you smile at the colourful lights of the nightly city, you loved so much as a teenager, as you climb up the steel construction of the bridge.
No use to turn out the lights
you feel so depressed inside
when you think of your wasted years at night
The water looks like ink.
Such a long way to fall.
But you are not afraid.
You have been falling all your life.
One last time you will.
Deeply.
Water as hard as stone
will break every bone
in your weary body
and will drown the rest.
Nobody will miss you.
Nobody will cry.
Nobody will be sad.
It's okay.
You never
wanted to hurt anybody.
"Sean, I love you", you whisper
and wonder, what he will look like now.
"I wish, I could see you smile just once again..."
Better you leave the places of your past
'cause dreamers love cities and cities hate dreamers
Down down down
Walked through the sand, the sand, soft and white
and felt the sun, the sun, warm and bright
and saw the ocean, ocean blue
and thoughts, thoughts, came
thoughts of you...
He was barefoot, you remember, a silent, calm and soothing presence like the sunshine's warmth on your skin and his eyes as blue as the sea.
You met him at an exhibition of his paintings.
You bought all of them, spellbound by their radiant energy, their depth and intensity, their beauty, their voiceless siren call.
Then you saw him. Barefoot, confused, looking perfectly out of place: a tall scrawny man clad in an over-sized, paint-splattered shirt and ratty jeans and with notes written with a black waterproof marker all over his left hand and forearm.
For he had the same aura as those paintings. You found the artist.
Following him out to the balcony you exchanged a cigarette and small talk with him, but later he was laughing with you and then falling silent with respect of the marvellous sunset.
Down, down, down
I'm feeling down
Down, down, down
I'm feeling down
You let him vanishing as quietly from your life as you let him in: barefoot, wordless and afraid.
First you didn't recognise the change, your life as an actor is a busy one. Then there were women, many, too many to remember their faces and names. Then alcohol. Later drugs.
You are clean since a while, but still yearning, yearning for something, that fame, drugs and sex couldn't give you.
Peace, utter peace, this feeling of belonging somewhere, to be able to rest, just to be yourself and not a character, not the actor, not the sex-symbol.
Just you, plain, bare and naked you with all odds and bad habits and accent and mistakes and not perfect at all, able to take off this mask of thousand faces and able to know which one was your own once.
And felt the beat, the beat, strong and loud
As I was dancing amidst the crowd
and my surrounding seemed out of view
And thoughts and thoughts came
thoughts of you...
You fled from the premiere party last night and kept walking, walking seemingly aimless through half-dark, light-polluted streets.
But your feet knew, they knew perfectly well, how to lead you to the sea, back to the beach, back to the place, where everything changed for you, back to the memories you fear, back to the knowledge, that you fell in love, fell in love right here... with him.
His images follows you everywhere, everything seems to remind you of him.
Suddenly you know, what you used all those women, those bottles of liquor, all those roles for: to forget him, to forget, that you love him, that you are in love with a man, crave for his touch, his smile, voice and scent.
He had questions in his eyes, but you had no answer. No your mind is screaming it at you: I love you, please don't go, please don't ever go...
Slowly you collapse on the sand and scream your pain into the face of this new day.
See me, see me, down on my knees
come back, come back, come back please
I saw the world and found no reply
Tell me, tell me, tell me why... ?
You barely feel the plane rise from the ground, your eyes are staring at images, you kept buried in your mind for such a long time:
Moonlight touching his pale-bronze skin, his muscled back, his cute little ass, his long legs, when he stepped naked into the waves, smiling at you.
Your gaze swallowed him like the sea, when he dived into the glistening water.
Walk to the moon
Setting out
Restless motion
Beyond the horizons
Lands must be golden
Brother by the hand
Pure heart trusting in
Shining eyes when he looked up at him
Now Sean sees him, but barely recognises him anymore, because he's already fading, standing there, gathering all strength, that is left to take the final step out of this world.
"No!", he screams and Viggo turns around, eyes bathed in starlight, too bright to be real.
"Sean?", he whispers unbelievingly, but finally falls takes the offered hand, pale and golden. Their embrace is fierce, lacking gentleness, controlled by despair and longing, but finally Viggo dares to look up, praying, that this isn't a dream and Sean just smiles wants to lead him away from this world, he's not made for, their love is not made for and together they step forward on the rays of moonlight, that can't carry them.
Come on let's walk to the moon
Come on let's walk to the moon
It's their choice to leave, what is called life, to go to an unknown place, but they are not afraid anymore, not afraid, because even the forensic medical doctor can't release their entwined fingers without breaking them.
Freedom of choice
Triumph of the will
God made his joke keeping still
Signs by the wayside
Leading to nowhere
Winter came bringing hidden despair
The answer is silence, the answer is helplessness, the answers are just a try but without meaning. The meaning remains hidden behind closed eyelids, safe under resting lashes, trapped between silent lips without a whisper.
Hazy shapes
On an endless pain
Illusions of freedom
In nature's game
And the stars hide their lights
You can't see them weep
The air was silent
And they fell asleep
Love me love me to the end...
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-12-01 09:58 pm (UTC)This is haunting and beautiful. I loved the glimpse into their souls to see the longing there.
no subject
Date: 2004-12-02 04:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-02 07:02 am (UTC)Wonderful work as always. *hugs*
no subject
Date: 2004-12-12 10:26 am (UTC)How Romeo and Julietish! Love it - though I cried.
*hugs you*
Date: 2004-12-14 06:42 am (UTC)