LPfiction

Category Linkin Park

Wander by im.no.saviour

This depleted street beneath my feet.

Cigarette in one hand, music in the other, you step.


You begin your aimless walk. You've a destination in mind, but you don't believe your body can handle the distance. You know where you want to go - you know - but you can't go there. You can't allow yourself the escape.


You think, you'd love to be a magician. The whisk of the hand, the graceful swipe of the arm, and you'd disappear. Nothing but fabric and some worn-out memories of brilliance left behind. But you can't. So you walk.


It's just a small little escape.


You try to keep your mind off of things by focusing on the words ringing through your ears, but they just amplify the well-known facts. You're stuck. You've nothing here, but you cannot leave it behind. It's a lie to say you've nothing, because at least you've got your once-in-a-while, for-no-one-in-particular performances. But that'd be a lie too. You can't remember the last time you took the stage. Or even the area in front of the stage. What you can remember though, is who the words are for.


For every person that's ever wronged you. For every person that's ever made you feel the like you're the one. For every person that told you you'd be nothing. For every person you gave you the least bit of attention and believed in you. For every person you proved wrong by making something of yourself, then becoming your own downfall.


You've tried to talk it out. You've always been told talking will make you feel better. When it came down to words, you'd rather have some structure than a ramble that you'd soon forget. That's how you are. Always planning. Never taking action. You can't count the amount of pages you've wasted on foolish fantasies. They're infinite. You can count the amount of steps you've taken towards goals. Zero. You may have strived, but you've never felt fulfilled. You can blame it on others, but it's your own fault. And those thoughts, where the blame falls on you, that's what eats you up if you sit still long enough. So you move.


With a cigarette in one hand, music in the other, you step. Back up the staircase, back to the confine of your own mind, and sit. Because really, aimless walking only leads you here. Leads you back. Back to where you'll never succeed. Amounts mean nothing, because you won't amount to anything, just like they told, just like you tried to fight, just like you now accept. But who said you wanted acceptance?


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Reviews & Concrit welcome. Thank you for reading. :]

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