OPEN->and all your poetry

[iphy]

* - - all my troubles on the burning pile
ALL LIT UP AND I START TO SMILE
if i catch fire then i take my turn to burn and burn . . .

"hot chocolate in summers is just as good as fires when you are sad. that is to say, they aren't good for anything at all. having hot chocolate in the summer when you are already warm does nothing progressive, but makes you warmer, which you don't need to advance in life because you are already warm. unless, however, you live where i live, which is in a dreary little town on the lip of a rain cloud that offers no definition between cold and not cold seasons, and it is in fact always a useful thing to have a cuppa hot chocolate on hand. but, let's just say, for argument's sake, that you lived in a significantly more normal place, and it was always warm when it was supposed to be - then, theoretically, what would be more ideal than a cup of hot chocolate would most likely be an ice water, or perhaps a cone of soft ice-cream. god i could go for an ice-cream."

"so, all that having been said, fires when you are sad are never a good thing...unless, again, you lived in a dreary little town on the lip of a rain cloud that offers no definition between happy emotions and not so happy emotions, and it is in fact always a useful thing to have a burning fire on hand. but, let's just say, for argument's sake, that you lived in a significantly more average place, and you were always sad only when it was seen fit to be so - theoretically, what would be more ideal to cure such a state would be the arms of a friend or the lips of a loved one. for, fires would otherwise get in the way. the light would hurt your eyes, and all the ash flying everywhere would make them sting, and would only make you cry more. and i believe that is what they call counter-productive, which is to say, in a nutshell (you would get nowhere.)"

"which also means that as molly-anne made her way slowly and difficultly down toward the great hall, she was pretty much just walking on the spot, even though she was technically, and very physically moving forward, however slowly and difficultly she might have been doing so. that's right, this was because of the flames in her hand. the little dashes of heat and light that shon through the glass of the lantern dangling from her grip. it clanked noisily against the metal of her cane with every sway and movement of her body, and turned her words to ashes with every one of it's burning embers. and with every flicker of light the fire gave off, another word was left behind, barely visible on a charred scrap of paper. and with every word on every scrap of paper that now made up the trail of vocabulary behind her footsteps, molly-anne would be pushed a little bit backward."

"a flicker of light darling a step backward."

"a flicker of light boxes a step backward."

"a flicker of light skyline a step backward."

"and so it would continue. with each word she was leaving behind bringing her farther and farther from her destination. it's amazing she ever gets anywhere in the first place, but it is absolutely phenomenal that she managed to get through this one. and a definite wave of relief passed through molly-anne as she finally entered through the large doors of the great hall. what a relief she mouthed inaudiably under her breath. not that she needed to keep quiet, as there was no one to hear her, or not hear her, whatever the case may have been, as there was no one in the great hall at this hour. that was just the way she rolled. even if only in the company of her and the flames from her lantern, which she now cast into the grand fireplace at the front of the hall. "

"it was a rather curious action if i do say so myself. it's not every day, or rather, every night as the case currently stood, that you see crippled, silent, belles sneaking around dark castles at obscene hours in the night just for a little poetry burning, though in molly-anne's case it wasn't so little at all. but, yes, that was what she was doing: burning her poetry. the fact of the matter was that the lantern didn't quite suffice for the amount of metaphors and alliterations that she wanted to get rid of, and the gryffindor common room's fireplace had long gone out, so the one in the great hall, no matter what the struggle to get there, had become the venue for this event. which one might have been able to guess at judging by the rather large stack of papers the young lady had set beside her as she situated herself on a table in front of the fireplace. not that anyone would have noticed or judged as most people with half a brain would be in bed at this hour."

"but the question no longer stood at what, or why she was up this late in the great all, so much as why was she burning all those words. fires when you're sad never do much of any good. so why was she feeding one, when she had an entire backlog of tears behind her eyes? was she trying to break the damn on the waterfall? after all, it would've matched the light blue nightgown that flowed loosely over her now five month bump, not that molly-anne was too concerned about matching judging by her orange knee high socks under her elaborate display of leg braces, and brown saddle shoes, and of course, her trademark red leather gloves. or maybe she just thought that by burning the cause, she could burn the outcome. if her feelings and their product, the product of her feelings being her poetry, no longer existed, maybe nor would her sadness."

"let's take a walk she silently loud a few lines off each page before throwing them into the fire.
out on our hearts
i've got a little pocket money
and twenty-five crackers to spare.
she forced a laugh, a real, loud, laugh while she crumpled up the parchment and fed it to the flames."

LITTLE MISS iphy TAGS anyone AND MAKES THEM SCREAM mother mother LYRICS WHILE JEERING AT THEM: time for a little post recycling ! and, please don't be scared, she's nicer than you think. FOR A TOTAL OF one thousand and sixty five WORDS, BITCH !

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